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Entered at the Post Off!ce at New York at Second Class Rates. 

ioPYRiGHTED bv Geo.MuNRO, 1891 - bxj Svbscriptton $/.oo Per Annu 
^ Kug. 13 . 1893 . 


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Wtoood 6ili7)di), 


IJT027 Vandewater St.tkw Yofw 


MUNRO’S PUBLICATIONS, 


The New York Fashion Bazar Book of the Toilet. 

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MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 




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MY LITTLE PRINCESS 



BY 


WENONA GILMAN, 


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NEW YORK. 

GEORGE MUNRO, PUBLISHER, 


17 TO ~7 Vandewatkr Sti^ekt. 

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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1891, by 
GEORGE MUNRO, * 

in the Offlee of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C. 


My Little Princess.—” Laurel Series.” 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


t 

CHAPTER 1. 

The windows were open, and the draft occasioned by 
the passage of air from the fan-light over the door com- 
mingling with the circulation through the casement, touched 
agreeably the brow of a young man who sat, with palette, 
brushes, and maul-stick, gazing critically upon a portrait 
which lested on the easel before him. 

The sun through the sky-light made the heat of the room 
rather greater than it otherwise would have been. But 
Ballard Hilliard worked on as diligently as if his daily 
bread depended upon the rapidity of the strokes of his 
skillfully wielded brush. Not that it did, you know, for 
the clever young artist was one of those favorites of the 
gods who seemed to have reached the rainbow and its con- 
sequent bags of gold without the smallest effort on his 
own part. 

His brother artists sighed enviously. 

“Not but what he deserves his success, you under- 
stand,^’ they would explain to each other; “ but if he were 
a poor devil without a dollar with which to bless himself, 
the world would not take such pains to discover this re- 
markable talent of which they now seem so proud.” 

But Ballard Hilliard paid no attention either to their re- 
marks or his own success. He loved art for art’s sake, 
and he slaved and toiled early and late — not for the num- 
ber of ducats that resulted therefrom, but the glow of an 


6 


MY LITTLE PEIMCESS. 


ideality lightened and brightened his life. He had before 
him a grand ambition, and toward that goal every act of 
his life was to him a step. He wanted to be great, and to 
know that he deserved his greatness. He wanted no fame 
purchased by his social position and the wealth that had 
come to him as an inheritance through generations. He 
wanted not the glory of a day. He had no desire for that 
short-lived notoriety that made him the lion of the hour. 
He wanted his name to go down*, to posterity. He 
wanted to feel within himself that future generations would 
know him even better than his contemporaries had done. 
And he deceived himself in nothing. He was his own 
severest critic. He spared himself in nothing. He grieved 
over his failures and delighted in his successes as a mother 
does over her best-loved child. 

And that v/as the passion of his soul. He was living in 
dreams of the future. 

He was thinking of that, perhaps, as he sat there upon 
that golden day in June, gazing at the ideal head upon the 
canvas, when a light, quick knock sounded upon the door. 
In answer to a rather impatient “ Come inl'^ the door 
opened, and a small figure, bearing a basket laden with 
flowers, entered. 

It was a tiny, piquant face, with a singular perfection of 
feature that touched his artist soul with a sudden thrill. 
She was small, almost childish in appearance; but there 
was a roundness, a willowy grace to her form that he had 
never seen equaled, and as she stood there in the center of 
the floor, holding her basket up for his inspection, her ex- 
quisite face dimpling with a smile that seemed to be all in 
her eyes, though the dimples were near her mouth, he 
gazed in silence as he might have done at some masterpiece 
of art that touched and thrilled the lost chord of his inner 
self. 

“ Want some flowers?^^ she asked, with an almost boy- 
ish intonation of speech and audacity. 


MY LITTLE PEIKCESS. 


7 


Her voice was musical, in exact accord with her appear* 
ance,. and the very slanginess of her manner seemed to sit 
well upon her piquant self. Ballard Hilliard's magnificent 
dark eyes softened as they rested upon her* 

“ Are you selling them?’' he asked, scarcely conscious 
of what he was saying* 

“ You don't suppose I am giving them away, do you?" 
she questioned, saucily. “ When I go to Bloomingdale it 
will be as an attendant and not as a lunatic, and don't yon 
forget it! Want to buy?" 

“ Perhaps. Where do you live?" 

“ Avenue B, top flat, tenement row. Would you like 
to know the number? If you will call, there might be 
something to interest your artisic eye there in the shape of 
Persian portieres, Sevres china, and Guido's masterpiece. 
We got the last named for returned tea tickets. As my 
mother always teaches me to be entirely truthful, I had 
better add that it is not the original, but a copy. Would 
you like to know the brand of tea that they give them 
with?" 

“ Thanks— no. I never drink tea," returned Hilliard, 
with perfect earnestness. 

“ You miss half the good of life," she said, with a grin. 
Then, turning to a stand of fading flowers: “ That's about 
the best picture you've got here, isn't it? That is one 
thing that none of you fellows can do— you can't get over 
nature." 

“ I quite agree with you," he replied, studying admir- 
ingly the changes in her lovely countenance. “ Did you 
ever have your portrait painted, little one?" 

“ Pooh— no! One or two of the fellows have asked me, 
but 1 want no one to do that who is not a worthy successor 
of Eembrandt or Eaphael. Perhaps Titian could do best, 
for he could catch the light in my hair that the others 
would fail upon. I think it would make me so seasick that 
I should never recover if I were to see chromos of myself 


8 


MT LITTLE PKIN'CESS. 


like those I have seen of some ladies of society. I have 
been around artists^ studios more or less all my life, and 
after the shocks 1 have received, I have schooled myself 
not to see the contents of their work-rooms at all.'^^ 

“ Are you so good a judge 

“ TVell, perhaps not in an artistic way, you understand; 
but I have absorbed a sort of knowledge of things in gene- 
ral regarding art that I couldn't have escaped if I had 
tried. It had to come to me,' like the measles and chicken- 
pox come to more fortunate children. 1 don't know any- 
thing else." 

“ Do you come from a family of artists, then?" 

“ Yes. My grandfather was Roderick Millbourne. My 
father was Donald Millbourne." 

The names she had mentioned were so well known in the 
art world that Ballard Hilliard sprung to his feet. 

“You don't mean it?" he cried. “Why, my prize 
possession is a painting by Roderick Millbourne! They 
were the greatest artists — But, pardon me, how — " 

He could not complete his sentence, but stopped in con- 
siderable embarrassrnent. 

“ How does it come that I am selling flowers in the 
streets?" she said, quietly, though a. trifle bitterly, finish- 
ing his sentence for him. “Do you remember the old 
quotation from ‘ Pinafore:' ‘ Things are seldom what they 
seem '? It has been so in our case. Y’ou know my father's 
misfortune. The whole world knew it. What he made 
one day he spent for rum the next. The picture-dealers 
got the money that rightfully belonged to him, and nobody 
ever found out that he was great until after he was dead 
and my poor mother a pauper." 

Hilliard tried to find something to say, but somehow he 
felt tongue-tied in presence of that tiny flower-girl who 
stood there before him like a small princess in disguise. 
He could not express his sympathy for her in words, but 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


0 


there was a note in his voice far more eloquent when he 
said: 

“ And your mother. Does she live?^^ 

“ Yes/^ answered the girl, her great eyes sadly roving 
to the window, her lip quivering under an emotion that she 
was striving to conceal. “ She lives, but— Don't make 
me speak of it, sir. My mother is dying as rapidly as a 
woman can who is on her feet from morning until night. 
She won't give up, and some night — " 

She did not finish her sentence, but turned suddenly and 
was walking rapidly toward the door, when Hilliard caught 
her by the arm. 

“ You must not go — at least, not yet," he cried, his own 
voice trembling as he saw the white anguish of her face. 
“ I admired the work of your grandfather and of your 
father as 1 have done that of no modern artist. You must 
let me come and see your mother for your father's sake. 
Yon must—" 

“No, you can't do that. She is very proud. She does 
not know that I sell flowers, and it would break her heart 
if she did. She thinks that I am in a private ofiSce in one 
of the dry-goods stores; but 1 lost 'my position there, and 
did not dare to tell her for fear the shock would kill her. 
We are very poor. There is an old blind florist that has a 
place not far from our house, and 1 sell for him. We 
divide the profits, and she knows nothing of it. 1 think it 
would kill her outright if she knew I am in the streets all 
day. 1 have sold them for a year now, and she has never 
suspected. I have my regular customers — and it pays bet- 
ter, much better, than the store. But she is growing 
weaker every day. There is not a night that I go home 
that I can not see the change the day has brought. Oh, 
sir, I try to be brave, but it is breaking my heart!" 

“ Poor child! Poor little one!" whispered Hilliard, 
more touched than he remembered ever to have been be- 
fore. ‘ ‘ How strangely hard life is for some, and so easy 


10 


MY LITTLE PRIKCESS. 


— SO easy for others who could better bear the trials. But 
you must let me come to see her — your mother, you know. 
You must let me, for your father's sake, you understand. 
Come, look here! You see I am not a bad artist, as 
modern ones go. Look at this. 1 am going to ask your 
mother's consent to paint your portrait." 

He had turned her around and led her toward the can- 
vas, which, though incomplete, showed the superb talent 
of the painter. Her face brightened, as if under the in- 
fluence of sunshine. 

“ Oh, I say, did you do that?" she cried, in such genu- 
ine surprise and admiration that he laughed outright. 

“ Yes," he answered. 

She did not speak for many minutes, but stood there 
apparently drinking in the work of art in supreme delight. 

“ Yout drawing, your coloring, your technique, your 
style are perfect!" she cried, at last, with suppressed en- 
thusiasm. “ Ah, you work from love! It is there in 
every sweep of the brush. Your fame is a dowry from 
Heaven. An unfinished portrait such as that, even if you 
were to die to-night, would be a monument that would 
perpetuate your name through all the ages." 

Hilliard's face flushed as he listened. All his life he had 
received praise, but none had gone to his heart like that. 

“ Who is she?" asked the girl, nodding at the canvas. 
“ She is the most beautiful woman I ever saw!" 

“ She is an ideal. I thought her beautiful, too, until 1 
saw you. Pardon me; 1 didn't wish to be rude. 1 may 
surely admire the work of God even as you admire mine 
Not to the woman, but the artistic model, I say that you 
are the most exquisite piece of molding that I have ever 
seen. For the sake of art, let me paint you. You have 
the soul of an artist. It is born in you. I beg it as a 
favor — for the sake of the beloved mistress of both our 
hearts, let me paint you!" 


MY LITTLE PKINCESS. 11 

She put out her hand and raised her eyes now liumid 
with tears. 

“It shall be my humble contribution to your future 
greatness/^ she said, softly. 

She did it for love of art. Is it God who rules events 
such as that? Can it be that He, who doeth all things 
rightly and well, writes in the book of predestination a 
situation such as that, with the awful future veiled? 


CHAPTER 11. 

“ Carroll!'' 

There was a rather heavy brush between Ballard Hil- 
liard's teeth, which thickened his articulation a trifle, but 
not sufficiently to make the word misunderstood. His eyes 
were fixed upon the portrait and not the model. She 
heard, but waited for. him to continue. He repeated: 

“ Carroll!" 

“H'm!" 

“ Are you tired?" 

“ Dead tired! My neck is cramped and both arms are 
fast asleep. " 

“ Let us rest awhile. My fingers are paralyzed from 
holding this palette. " 

“ That is why you thought of my fatigue, 1 suppose." 

He laughed as he laid his brushes and palette away. 

She came up behind him and leaned over his chair, 
catching her breath in a little gasp of surprise. 

‘^Oh!" she exclaimed. “ You are idealizing again. I 
thought you were going'to paint me as I am." 

“ I am. I have. One can not improve upon the ideal- 
ization of God. I could not paint you as beautiful as you 
are without an inspiration from Heaven." 

He spoke with suppressed enthusiasm, as he always did 
when her beauty was referred to. The speech was followed 
by an embarrassed silence on the part of Carroll Mill- 


12 


UY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


bourne. Hilliard observed it, and wishing to relieve her, 
exclaimed, briskly: 

“ Look at that!” holding up his middle finger for her 
inspection. “ I did not feel it while 1 was at work, but 
see how the brushes have pinched my finger. They usually 
callous it and make it sore, but this is a regular blood- 
blister. ” 

“ Let me open it from the under side,^^ said Carroll, 
turning in a business-like way from the contemplation of 
her own pictured, poetical beauty to the most prosaic mat- 
ter of relieving a blood-blister. “ Where are your needles? 
Ah, here!” 

She selected one, and kneeling beside him, took his hand 
in hers. As she bent her pretty head above it, a slow flush 
mounted from Ballard Hilliard’s throat to his brow. A 
soft light burned in his. superb eyes, such as no woman had 
been able to call there before. A smile trembled upon the 
corner of his finely cut mouth, and for the first time in his 
life he realized that love ola woman was master of love of 
art; that there was something besides a canvas and brushes 
in the world; that the human heart was the perfected work 
of God, and that his had been played upon by the great 
Guiding Hand. 

He forgot all else than that. He cared to remember 
nothing. He knew that he loved the girl who was there 
so closely beside him, with his hand clasped in hers almost 
tenderly, and — 

He did not complete the thought, for she had lifted her 
head, and was about to rise. 

“There!” she exclaimed. “I don’t think you will 
have any more trouble with that. You are ruining your 
hands.” 

He watched her rise as one watches a sunbeam go. He 
looked at her hungrily, yearningly, for a moment; then he 
too arose, with a sigh smothered in his heart, and rapidly 


MY LITTLE PEIJTCESS. 13 

walked the floor with hent head, evidently thinking deeply, 
unhappily. 

The mental conflict had whitened his lips and drawn his 
brows; but Carroll did not see. Something in his manner 
had made her nervous, though she could scarcely have told 
what, and she had turned to his desk, upon which were 
scattered numerous etchings and photographs in artistic 
negligence. She was turning them over carelessly, almost 
without seeing them, when he approached and stood beside 
her for some seconds in silence. He was not looking at 
her, but down at the tiny brown hands that were fluttering 
in and out among the pictures; and his thoughts were 
away as well. 

He was thinking of the woman who held his promise of 
marriage — thinking of how little she knew the meaning of 
love compared with this grand passion that he felt for this 
flower-girl with her artist’s soul. He was wondering if 
honor was the rivet in a loveless bond, or if honor did not 
compel him to break it. And then Carroll glanced up 
with a smile, and he met her eye. 

The work was done. 

He forgot that other woman to whom his pledge be- 
longed. His passion had crept from his heart to his head 
and entangled his brain. He leaned forward and slipped 
his arm about the girl, drawing her to his breast. 

“ Carroll,” he whispered, ” are you too much an angel 
to know the meaning of love?” 

His arm held her; his hand pressed her cheek down 
upon his bosom. She did not reply, but lay there trem- 
bling, with downcast eyes and flushed face, making no en- 
deavor to release herself. 

“Sweetheart,” he whispered again, “look at me! 
Have I frightened you? Forgive me! The strength of 
my love is so great that I can control it no longer! Have 
you not seen how it was with me? Could you not read all 
the struggle in my heart? Ah, Carroll, speak to me!” 


14 


MY LITTLE PEIKCESS. 


She lifted her eyes, a smile of heavenly happiness in theii" 
depths. 

“ What is there to say?^’ she asked. 

“ That you love me!” 

“ Would you know it better then than now? Can you 
not feel it?” 

Hilliard smiled — a little, staggering sort of effort. 

“ I want to hear you say it,” he answered, tenderly. 
“ 1 want to know it from your lips. My darling^ — darling, 
if you knew how my love has mastered me! It is the one 
thought of my heart— the strongest emotion of my soul! 
Carroll, answer me!” 

She lifted herself in his arms just a trifle, and smiled up 
at him with almost delirious ecstasy. 

“ You want my lips to speak the words that my heart 
has said to you a thousand times?” she questioned, hap- 
pily. “ 1 love you! Is it enough?” 

“ Yes, if love means to you what it does to me. 1 have 
never loved before, and I have lived much longer than 
you. Oh, dearest heart! there is such sweetness, such joy 
in holding you in my arms and knowing that your life is 
mine!” 

“ And it is — all yours!” 

He bent his head and kissed her — a long, passionate em- 
brace that contained nothing of impurity, nothing that 
could tarnish her perfect chastity 

He was striving to control his emotion as much as possi- 
ble, lest he alarm her; but it required a tremendous effort. 
His entire self seemed submerged in the overwhelming de- 
sire to have her for his own.' Great passions come to great 
natures suddenly, and his left no room for any other 
thought. 

For some time there was silence between them, when 
each seemed listening to the beat of the other’s heart; 
then, with his lips upon her own, Hilliard whispered; 

^ “ When will you be my wife, my own?” 


MY LITTLE PRII^CESS. 15 

“Not yet/' she answered. “You must wait. Not 
long, you know; but until my mother is better." 

“ It must be soon. There are so many things that I 
have to tell you; but just at first I want to feel the sweet- 
ness of your love without thinking of the past. You trust 
me, do you not, Carroll?" 

“ Absolutely!" 

“ And yet there are some things m my life which you 
must know — some things which you must hear from me 
alone. If I could only make my life a clean page like 
yours, for your sake, my love, I should be so glad — so glad!" 

“lam satisfied with you as you are. If you were difier^ 
ent in one thing, my love would, of necessity, be less. Oh, 
how can you, so great, so grand, care for an insignificant 
creature such as I?" 

“ There is no woman under God's sun to compare with 
you. Your beauty never has and never will be reproduced. 
Your purity is as great as that of an angel. Your soul is 
that of an artist. Does mortality go beyond that? Dear- 
est love, if I were but worthy of you, my happiness would 
be too complete!" 

Hush! 1 am half afraid of my own joy. There has 
been so little of sunshine in my life that it seems to me 
that the cloud must come while I am basking in the de- 
licious warmth. I have felt that you cared, yet I dared 
not frame the thought.'' 

“ You are the one and only love of my life, my own; 
yet there are things that you must know." 

“No. I am more than satisfied with that. Let the 
rest go. What is your past to me? It is the future that 
is mine and God's." 

He kissed her once again with reverent devotion. 

“ And God deal with me according to my fidelity to 
you!" he said, slowly, the flush of ideal passion upon his 
cheeL 


16 


MY LITTLE PEIKCESS. 


CHAPTER III. 

Theee months lay in the dead past, for happiness and 
beauty and love must die, even as misery and hatred are 
included in dissolution. The months lay dead, yet un- 
buried, still held under the caress of memory. 

How happy those two were, Carroll and Ballard Hilliard ! 
Life to them was like the sun in the midday sky. 
They saw nothing but each other, heard nothing but each 
other, wanted nothing but each other. They spoke to each 
other in sighs, in glances, and caresses. They adored each 
other, content in silence. 

The portrait progressed slowly. To Hilliard, Carroll 
seemed to grow more beautiful with each hour, and where ^ 
at first he had been satisfied with his work he now found 
flaws— defects that no care or pains could erase'. 

“ You are too beautiful for any but a god to paint, my 
little princess!’^ he often said to her. “ 1 must give it up. 
If you were dead, and I saw you only by the light of mem- 
ory, I could do it then, and the world would call me fa- 
mous, but never while you are before me. I see too clearly 
then how short 1 fall of the perfection of the original, and 
the failure disheartens me. 1 must be satisfied with the 
possession of the fairest flower of the universe, even if I 
can not make it live for future ages.'^ 

But still the sittings continued. Each day he scarcely ' 
seemed to live until he heard her well-known tap upon the 
door; then heaven opened. 

“ When are these partings to end, my little princess?’^ 
he said to her one day as she was leaving him. “ When 
are you to become my wife before grll the world?’’ 

“ Soon, Ballard,” she answered, with that upward 
glance that expressed her love so well. “ Not quite yet. 

I am foolish, but the thought of change hurts me. Wait 


MY LITTLE PRIIfCESS. 17 

until my mother is better. Then, dear heart— Shall we 
be so happy — after?’^ 

“ Does it make you happy to go from me? It will be 
an eternal union!’' 

She looked at him without replying. There was a long 
caress, so deep, so tender, so true. What is there left in 
life to one who has tasted so much of bliss? 

She went out into the early gloaming of that still Sep- 
tember day, her heart light under its flutterings of love. 
There was a song in her soul — a song of gratitude to God 
for the richness of His blessing. She noticed nothing of 
the busy, bustling world about her. She paid no heed to 
where she was going, but walked more by instinct— from 
habit — than from any sight that directed her. Her 
thoughts were filled with him whom she had left behind. 
When she came to her poor home she paused and sighed. 

W'as not there something in contrast? Would life be 
the same to her when she had left that wretched place for- 
ever? At least there was happiness with Ballard Hilliard, 
wherever she might be. Comforted by that thought, she 
mounted the long, steep flight of stairs, and very softly 
opened the door. 

Instead of the pale face of her mother that had always 
greeted her, she was met by a lady charmingly though 
simply attired, her pure, noble, high-bred face wearing an 
anxious look. She had removed her hat and gloves, the 
jewels upon her hands looking strangely out of place in 
that poorly furnished room. 

“ You, Miss Kingman — and at this hour!” exclaimed 
Carroll, her face growing pale under an intangible fear. 
“ Has anything happened?” 

Before replying, Geraldine Kingman took the beautiful 
face between her hands and kissed it. 

” I hope nothing serious, Mignonne,” she answered, 
gently. ” I called to-day to see your mother, knowing 
that she had not been well of late, and I found her more 


18 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


ill than I thought. 1 persuaded her to go to bed and sum- 
moned a doctor. ” * 

“ And now?^^ gasped Carroll. 

“ She has not been well, you know. The doctor 
says — 

“ What?'-’ 

“ Don’t be frightened, Mignonne. It is so difficult to 
tell in these early stages, and he may be mistaken, after 
all.’^ 

“But he said — 

“ Something about — small-pox. 

“My God r’ 

The girl staggered back; but the tender arms of the 
woman of society supported her, leading her to a chair 
near by. 

“You need your strength, dear child; and she needs 
you, too. She has called for you so often— so often during 
the last two hours. 

Carroll colored painfully as she remembered where she 
had been, forgetful of all save her own selfish joy, her own 
boundless love. Then the thought of Miss Kingman^s 
danger came to her. 

“ Great heavens!’’ she cried, starting up in wild horror; 
“ you should not be here. Ohi why have you remained? 
Why did you not go when he told you the hideousness of 
:t all? Have you forgotten? Don’t you remember the 
frightful—” 

She seemed unable to continue, and Miss Kingman 
smiled. 

“lam not afraid, dearest,” she said, soothingly. “ If 
one’s friends think of self in moments like this, where 
would the charity of the world be? The terrible epidemic 
is raging, Carroll; you will not, therefore, find many that 
will stand by you now. Every one is afraid. You must 
not let any one suspect in the house. We are doing every- 
thing possible to prevent the disease getting through the 


MY LITTLE PEIKCESS. 


19 


house in the event of its proving what we fear. You un- 
derstand? I have persuaded the doctor that it will not be 
necessary to send her away until — until we know beyond a 
doubt. 

^ “ Away! Where?’^ 

“ There are places, you know — 

“ You mean the pest-house?’’ 

Miss Kingman did not reply. 

“ Great—” 

“ Hush!” she whispered. “ Did I not tell you that I 
had persuaded the doctor not to send her?” 

“ Kot until he knows.” 

“But he will never know uD4il she is well, or — Car- 
roll, you are very beautiful, child. Would you — ” 

But the girl seemed to divine what her friend, or more 
than friend, would say, and with a gesture of horror she 
put out her hand. 

“ Don’t say it!” she cried. “ Don’t think me so vile! 
Have 1 been neglectful of her? Forgive me — forgive me! 
1 love her — oh, how I love her! It will kill me if — ” 

“ But it won’t come to that!” interrupted Miss King- 
man. “ We won’t allow it to come to that. 1 am going 
to remain, you know-all the time, you understand. We 
will nurse her, you and I, night and day. We will save 
her; and after that her health will be better than ever, for 
it clears the system, this disease, and after it one is always 
so well.” 

: As she’ listened to the kind voice trying to cheer her, 
Carroll’s courage gave way, and leaning her head upon her 
friend’s shoulder, she burst into bitter tears. 

“ You are the best friend a woman ever had,” she said 
to Geraldine, when her tears had ceased to flow. “ One 
would know how to give up life — more than that — love, 
for you. Some time 1 shall find a way to repay you. ” 

‘ Then she went to her mother. 


zo 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


The next morning she got a boy to take a note to Ballard 
Hilliard. It was brief. 

“ Love,— Ho not expect me until you hear again. My 
mother is ill— dying, perhaps. 1 dare not tell even you 
what is wrong. Ho not come. 1 do not ask, but com- 
mand it. Trust me. With my heart, 

“ Your own 

“ Carroll.'^ 

And then these two — the society queen and the flower- 
girl — went on with their work, nursing that frail form 
back to life again. And, ah, what weary work it was! 
As they knelt beside the bed one night, watching the poor 
face, Carroll took the noble one of her friend between her 
hands. 

“ Think — she exclaimed, with dull anguish— “ think 
of your face being like that! Think of the hideous mark 
each one of those awful postules will leave. Have you no 
thought of self.^ Are you an angel?^^ 

Miss Kingman smiled. 

“ Only a woman,’' she answered, gently. “ Is not that 
enough? Must a woman be always a vain coward? near- 
est little one, I told you once that if you ever needed a 
friend you should call upon me. You see, I found it out 
for myself, and the friend is here.” 

“God bless you!” 

And so the days lengthened and vanished, a week came 
and went; then the doctors told them one morning that 
Mrs. Millbourne would live. It came almost with a 
greater shock to Carroll than had the knowledge of her 
illness, for she had almost despaired; but when she could 
choke her heart into subjection she turned, with the tears 
streaming over her face, and threw her arms about Miss 
Kingman’s neck. 

“ What do I not owe you?” she cried. “ You have 
saved her— my dear, dear mother! 1 owe her life to' you 


MY LITTLE PRIMCESS. 


21 


—it; is worth more than mine, much more. Without you 
I could have done nothiug— nothing! Thank God, thank 
you— my noble, noblest friend!^' 


CHAPTER IV. 

They were seated in the consei»vatory, beautifully, 
artistically filled with tropical plants, those two — Carroll 
JVfillbourne and Geraldine Kingman. It was the home of 
the latter, magnificent in its combinations, of modern com- 
fort and antique loveliness — a. fit setting for a gem so rare 
as Geraldine Kingman. 

She was not beautiful, in so far as regularity of feature 
constitutes beauty; but there was a grace of carriage, a 
nobility of bearing, a grande-dame manner that far sur- 
passed all that. She was as generous as nature, as true as 
death, and there was something about her that seemed to 
tell it to you in a language that was unmistakable. To 
Carroll she combined all the virtues, with none of the vices, 
of the goddesses of old. She worshiped her. She felt her- 
self capable of any heroic sacrifice for the sake of her 
friend, and Geraldine Kingman, the darling of society, re- 
turned the flovver-girPs affection. 

■ It was the first time that Carroll had left her mother 
after the long and painful illness that had confined her for 
so tedious a time, and a smile of hope and happiness rested 
upon the charming lips that Miss Kingman kissed. 

“It seems as if she were really well, to see you, little 
one,^^ Miss Kingman said, tenderly. “ It was good of you 
to come to me first, Mignonne.'^ 

And where should I have gone first if not to you?'' 
asked Carroll, pressing the hand she held, while long-re- 
pressed tears filled her eyes. “ What friend have I so 
good, so true as you? Did ever a woman live so self-for- 
getful, so noble, so—" 

“There — there!" interrupted Miss Kingman, with a 


22 


MY LITTL PRIN’CESS. 


light, happy laugh. “ AVhy, you would make me so vaiu, 
child, that my closest friend would find disgust for me in- 
stead of affection. 

“ I should like to tell the whole world what you have 
done for me!"' 

“ And I should be bitterly offended if you did. I 
have no desire to pose as a heroine, Carroll. I am a very 
happy woman, little one, and it is my greatest pleasure to 
show my gratitude to God for His goodness to me, who 
deserve it so little, by any work that comes in my way, by 
any little deed of kindness to a fellow-creature. I don't 
want thanks; I don't want advertisement to the world. 
I only desire the approval of my own conscience, which 
contains the approbation of Heaven. Do you think that 
the bravos of the world could make me happier than I 
am?" 

( Carroll glanced admiringly about her. 

“ You have everything to make life beautiful," she 
said, softly. 

An expression such as she had never seen upon it before 
crossed Miss Kingman's face. It seemed to be illumi- 
nated with a holy, a divine love, such as dawns but once 
in life, and hovers then upon the soul but a moment, too 
dear and too sweet even to be held by the breath of the 
heart. 

“ And yet you see so little of what J really have," she 
answered, a tender throb in her voice. “ Ah, if I could 
only tell you! Did you ever realize, Carroll, that there is 
something in life that goes beyond expression? Did you 
ever think that there is one emotion in life that the ten- 
derest word will wound? Ah, child, you will never have 
lived until you have loved!" 

Carroll dropped upon her knees, her hands holding those 
that rested upon Miss Kingman's lap, her glowing eyes 
raised. 

“ And you have loved like that?" she whispered. 


MY LITTLE PRIJS-CESS. 


23 


“ Like what? Have 1 said anything — expressed any- 
thing? How little it was; how short of the reality ! Sure- 
ly there must be some word beyond love to express it! It 
is-so weak, so impotent! And yet there can be none, for 
God is love, and there is' nothing beyond Him. But you 
can’t understand, and 1 can’t explain. He is a god — so 
handsome, so chivalrous, so noble! I wish I could tell 
you. But there are no words. I seem to be like a tiny 
child groping in the wilderness oi its little heart for a word 
that it has never learned tc utter to express a thought that 
IS pressing upon its tender soul. , Ah, love is my heart, my 
soul! Carroll, listen. Can you realize what it is to love 
so that one would die denied the love that has become more 
than life?’^ 

She was looking so earnestly, so scrutinizingly at the 
girl at her feet that the lovely face fell. 

Could she, Carroll Millbourne, understand a life like 
that — she who had known Ballard Hilliard? She almost 
laughed aloud at the thought. Then, very slowly, sne 
lifted her head, until her lips touched those cf her friend. 

“ I can understand,’' she whispered, “ for I too love 
and am loved!” 

A close, warm embrace followed ; then Carroll sat there 
upon the floor with her exquisite reddish-gold head upon 
Miss Kingman’s knee, the long, slim fingers of the woman 
of fashion flashing in and out of the sunny rings. There 
was a dreamy smile upon the lips of each. They spoke 
little. There seemed to be nothing to say. Then Miss 
Kingman leaned over and touched her friend’s cheek. 

“And this man who has won your heart,” she said, 
softly — “ what of him, my little Carroll? Does he love 
you as you deserve?” 

“ More! He adores me as I worship him.” 

“ How happy we both are! God bless you, dear. And 
we love each other, do we not, Carroll?” 

“ So much!” answered the girl, looking up contentedly. 


24 


MY LITTLE PKINGESS. 


“You gave me my mother^s life, and besides that, there is 
a bond of sympathy between us now that no time can ever 
destroy. If 1 were sure of the granting of any favor that 
I should ask of God, it would be that He should give me 
some way to prove my devotion to you, my more than 
friend. Don’t tell me that it is foolish. I know it but 
too well. Yet there is something in my heart that tella 
me — ” 

“ What?” 

“ 1 don’t know.^ I can’t quite understand. But it is 
coming, coming! Dearest, kiss me once again.” 

When the head was raised from the requested caress, a 
servant stood there. 

“ A gentleman is m the drawing-room. Miss King- 
man,” she said, quietly. 

Then, when she had gone, Geraldine sprung up. The 
matronliness had left her face. She was suddenly the 
blushing, thrilling girl aware of the presence of her lover. 
She pressed another quick kiss upon Carroll’s brow. 

“ It is he,” she whispered — “ he of whom I told you! 
Wait for me here. He never remains long when he calls 
at this hour. He is a great artist, Carroll, and his work 
divides his heart with me.” 

She was gone before Carroll could reply; but the girl 
sat still upon the floor, looking after her with that same 
lazy, tender smile. 

“ A great artist!” she whispered to herself. “ I wonder 
what he is like? Oh, ho ought to be a wonderful man that 
could win a heart like hers! How good and great of soul 
she is! 1 should like to see what manner of man could 
win such love from a woman like Geraldine Kingman. I 
wonder if he too paints portraits, or if he only does animals 
or landscapes? I should like to see him. I wonder if 
there would be any harm in my just taking a single glance 
at him? I am sure she would not mind, or she would not 
have told me of her love. I should be so proud to have 


MY LITTLE PRIITCESS. 


26 


her see Ballard, and I am quite sure — Just one little 
glance. Dear Miss Kingman, how much I owe her, and 
how much I love her!'^ 

She crept up and advanced noiselessly. The conserva- 
tory was separated from the drawing-room by a small re- 
ception-room and a heavy portiere. Silently she stepped 
through. The portidre was drawn a trifle aside. Miss 
Kingman had evidently stopped for something on the way, 
for she was just entering the room from an opposite door. 
A tall, manly form rose to greet her. Carroll saw only 
the back, yet her heart seemed to cease its beating. 

With graceful step he went forward. The sweet, blush- 
ing face was raised for the kiss that fell only upon the 
brow. 

Ah! surely, dear God, that was not the kiss of a lover! 
A brother might have implanted it there, but never the 
man to whose keeping a girl has given her very soul. 

Carroll had grown white as death. Her limbs were 
rigid. She tried to move, but she seemed chained to the 
spot. She would have fled, if only the power had been 
given her, from — she knew not what. But she could not. 
Every drop of blood in her veins seemed stagnated, yet her 
senses were peculiarly alive. 

She saw with horror the same deathless adoration that 
had gleamed in those pure eyes a fow brief moments be- 
fore — that devotion that had filled her with admiration, 
yet now paralyzed her with terror. Then the two turned. 
Her very soul died in that instant. What kept back the 
mad anguish that burst through every fiber of her being? 
What prevented the wild groan of the broken heart? 
Wliat hushed the death-gurgle in the throat of love? Only 
God knew. 

She stood there motionless as a sfatue, dead to every 
sensation that the human breast can know. Eor the man 
before her was Ballard Hilliard! 

In those words lay the death-warrant — not that alone; 


26 ilY LITTLE PRIIs^CESS. 

it was the crucifixion of a heart. She felt it die as eiiio- 
tion died. Then very slowly she turned, stricken dumb 
and blind, and crept away. 

She felt nothing, thought nothing. She was dead, and 
the world was dead, and even God had died when the 
warmth had left the sun. 

It was Ballard Hilliard whom Geraldine Kingman loved 
— whom Geraldine Kingman had said was more to her 
than her life! And what was it that Geraldine Kingman 
was to her? She had forgotten. 

There was no hat upon her head, no scarf about her 
throat as she crept from the house. She had forgotten. 

But suddenly — what was it? Has a thought power to 
lift dissolution?— something penetrated through the awful 
density upon her brain — a remembrance so horrible that it 
seemed to set her flesh on fire. She put her hands up to 
her poor, ghastly face; but the hideousness of her terror 
was too great even to admit a groan. How dared she face 
that awful knowledge? She had known it herself less than 
a week. She had meant to tell him that very day— he 
who would so soon have been her husband; yet now — 
God of heaven! what was she to do? 

The river seemed the only haven open to her. Would 
not Heaven find an excuse for her in the burden that had 
so suddenly — oh, God! how piteously sudden! — grown too 
heavy for her to bear? 

The knowledge that her friend loved him was surely 
enough; but this other thing — this hideous secret that now 
she dared not tell, weighed upon her soul with a heaviness 
greater than death! 


CHAPTER V. 

No thought of blame or censure entered CarrolTs heart 
toward the man whom she loved. 

She seemed, with that intuitive perception which is a 


MY LITTLE, PKINCESS. 


27 


woman’s dower right, to understand without a syllable of 
explanation the situation m which Ballard Hilliard was 
placed, but the comprehension helped her extremity not 
in the least. The circumstances which surrounded her 
were, to a woman of her natural refinement oE birth and 
breeding — for no poverty can alienate inborn mental deli- 
cacy — a source of anguish too great for either words or 
thought. She knew that something must be done. But 
what? — but what? 

The day was deliciously warm, tanned by a breeze that 
was balmy as spring. A curious indolence seemed to rest 
over nature, that imparted a feeling to her sensitive soul 
which she could not have analyzed even had she tried. 

The leaves in the park were turning to crimson and 
gold, and through them she walked onward, down to the 
lake that rippled so silently-and peacefully on its monot- 
onous way. She sat down, hidden by the still thick foliage 
of the shrubbery, and lifted her aching eyes to the clear 
blue of the sky.. 

The frightful pain of that awakening thought was still 
stabbing through the paralysis upon her brain and heart 
with hideous insistence. What was she to dor She asked 
the question of God, yet the voice of Heaven "was silent. 

Was she suffering for sin committed? Who shall an- 
swer? 

She knew that Ballard Hilliard -would marry her if she 
would permit it; but then what of Geraldine Kingman, 
that woman to whom she owed more than her life? 

“ I can'ti I canT!” she groaned, at last, to that voice- 
less sun that answers but the command of God. *' Lord, 
1 have prayed for some way to show her my gratitude. Is 
this the answer to my prayer? What right have 1 tc take 
from her her lover? He was hers before he was mine. 
Oh, Father in heaven, help me! Am I to give my honor 
in exchange for my mother’s life? Am 1? It is too bit- 
ter! Yet the sin, the shame is mine already. It was hid- 


MY LITTLE PKIMCESS. 


den from me then under the greatness of my love, but 1 
see it now cruelly clear. Shall 1 save myself at the cost of 
the happiness of the noble woman who risked more than 
her life for me and mine? Kever! At any cost— at any 
cost 1 shall do my duty! God help me to be brave!'" 

She bowed her head and groaned, such a groan as would 
have touched the heart of a satyr. No tears came to re- 
lieve her. She fought out her horrible battle, with the 
lake, the sun, and the' silent face of heaven to witness — 
fought her battle to victory; but the held was marked with 
the blood-stain of a dead heart. You who are mothers 
can best understand. 

Then she rose, her numb, stil! limbs feeling like wooden 
things beneath her, and walked slowly out of the park. 
Her poor white face was set and pitiful, but as emotion- 
less as cold, pale snow. With mechanical correctness she 
hailed a car, got m, paid her fare, and rode down-town. 
People looked at her curiously, for she was hatless, and 
there was a look upon her face that riveted attention; but 
she apparently saw nothing. She got out af the car at the 
proper crossing and entered the hotel where Ballard Hil- 
liard had his studio. 

She entered the hail and passed silently down toward the 
door of the room where she had been so madly happy, 
almost forgetful of those old days in the dear, dead past, 
so curiously close, yet so strangely long ago. She heard 
his voice singing, that rich, full barytone that she had so 
admired in the days that were dead, and paused until he 
had finished: 

I need no stars in heaven to guide me, 

I need no sun or moon to slune, 

While I have you, sweetheart, beside me, 

While I know that thou art mine." 

There was not a sob in her throat, not a tear dimmed 
her eye as she heard the little love soijg, knowing so well 


MY LITTLE PRIifCESS. 29 

that it was of her he was thinking, and without a knock 
she opened the door and entered. 

He was sitting before the easel, and did not hear her un- 
til she stood beside him, then he threw down his maul- 
stick and sprung up. 

“ How long you have been away, love!'^ he cried. 

And then he saw her face. 

A little, quickly strangled cry escaped him. He grew 
white to the lips and staggered back without touching her. 

“ Carroll!’^ he whispered. 

She did not replyc He caught the back of the chair for 
support, and after a moment recovered himself. 

“ Carroll,’’^ he repeated, “ what has happened? Your 
mother — 

“ Is well,^”^ she answered, wearily, raising her nand to 
lift the little damp curls from her brow. 

But you? What m Heaven's name has happened? 
Speak to me i lam — frightened.'"’ 

“ What shall I say?" she questioned, slowly. “ What 
IS there that one can say? What has happened? 1 don't 
knoWr That is — I don't know at alL I have come to say 
good-bye to you, Ballard.''' 

“ Good-bye?'^ 

“ Yes — eternally 

He looked silently at her for a moment, as if doubting 
her sanity; but there was too much still death in her eyes 
for him to think of that. 

“ What is it that you mean?''^ he asked, hoarsely. “ 1 
don't seem to understand. Am I dreaming, or are you 
mad?" 

“ Would to God it were one of the two," she answered, 
in a passionless way; “ but It is neither." 

“You wish me to understand that our love is at an 
end?" 

“Our sin, Ballard." 

“ Sin?" 


30 


HY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


“ Oh, don^fc! It is so hard. Dear, don't think I doubt 
you. To doubt Heaven would be as possible as that. 
Ballard, Ballard, why did you not tell me, darling? Why 
did you not let me know before?'" 

There was no emotion in her questions. It would have 
been a thousand times easier if there had been. 

He shiveied. 

“Speak cut, for God"s sake!'" he cried, heavily. 

“ What IS it that you mean?"" 

“ About Geraldine Kingman,'" she answered, slowly. 

A crimson flush crossed cheek and brow, yet there was 
an expression of intense relief in his countenance. 

“ 1 have been a great coward, Carroll,"' he returned, in 
a shamed voice. “ Desire to avoid giving pain has always 
been the weakness of my character; but you will forgive 
me that, will you not, my little princess? 1 will go at 
once and — " 

She stopped him with a gesture. 

“ There is no forgiveness between you and me," she 
said, huskily. “ 1 have loved you; if my heart were not 
quite dead, 1 should love you still with a great love that is 
beyond earth, but 1 see now how I have sinned. Do you 
know what punishment Heaven has sent me for that sin?" 

She paused, looking at him with those great, blank eyes 
that bewildered him. He dared not reply. 

“ God demands that 1 give you up — that I see you no 
more. Hush!'* — as he was about to speak — “ wait. Do 
you know who came to us when we were deserted by the 
whole world? Geraldine Kingman. Do you know who 
held my father's hand and soothed his last days on earths 
giving him the comforts that our poverty would have 
denied us the power of doing? Geraldine Kingman. Do' 
you know who kept my mother from the poor-house and 
me from being a beggar? Geraldine Kingman. Do you 
know to whom 1 owe my mother's life in this last terrible 
affliction that was sent upon us? Geraldine Kingman. 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


31 


Do you know to whom I owe the fact that my mother does 
not lie in Potter’s Field to-day, sent there from the pest- 
house? To Geraldine Kingman.” 

Her voice died away in a whisper. Ballard Hilliard had 
grown paler and paler as she was speaking. He had not 
known Carroll all these long, happy months without dis- 
covering something of the strength of her character, and as 
she continued, the whole situation was before him as clear- 
ly as she could have put it by the loudest lamentations. 

He knew that her sense of duty, mistaken though it 
might be, had been aroused, and he knew that he had lost 
her. 

He could not have spoken if his life had depended upon 
it. There was a silence between them that was horrible; 
then, with a long, weary sigh, she continued. 

“ I see that you understand, and that you agree with me 
that we must part. ” 

“ But I don’t!” he cried, passionately. “ I don’t,. and 
1 never shall. She is good and noble, it is true; but why 
should that fact spoil both your life and mine? I do not 
love her; so help me Heaven, I never have.” 

“ But she is your promised wife.” 

“ Through no fault of mine, 1 swear it! Listen, Car- 
roll—” 

“ Please don’t. It is so useless — so unutterably useless. 
She loves you. She held your promise before I had ever 
seen your face. That I should have stolen your heart 
from her is the very greatest wrong that 1 could have 
committed; but 1 shall wrong her no further. Oh! do 
you think L have not thought it all out? Do you think 
that 1 have not suffered until there is no heart left in my 
body to suffer more? Great God! Ten thousand deaths 
by slowest torture could never equal the anguish that 
I have endured! Do not make me suffer more than I have, 
Ballard. Say farewell to me, dear, and let me go!” 

“ Never!” 


r 


32 MY LITTLE PRIISTCESS. 

“ Then I must go without/^ 

“ I shall never let you/^ 

She held up her hand, and by the expression of her face 
he knew that her resolve was deathless. 

“You must!’"' she exclaimed, slowly. “ My resolution 
is taken, and nothing can move me. It is my duty, the 
atonement that I must make for my sin. If you would 
spare me, go on and do your duty to her. It is the single 
demand that I make of you for your part in the great 
wrong that has been done. If you have any love in your 
heart for me, you will do this for my sake. It is the only 
thing in all this world that can bring me the slightest hap- 
piness. You see, I feel nothing. My heart is as dead as 
that face that lies beneath your brush upon the senseless 
canvas. It is an eternal farewell, Ballard, and if you have 
any pity you will try to have it for my sake I' ’ 


CHAPTER VI. 

Who shall describe the hideousness of the death in life 
that accompanies a broken heart? Surely not we who have 
seen it so many times in this cruel old world — seen it in 
the beamless eye, heard it in the changeless sigh, felt it in 
the cold, emotionless tones of the once joyous, care-free 
voice. 

It was so with Carroll. 

Do you think there was a moment in the day, an hour 
in the long, bitter night when she could close her heart to 
the knowledge of the frightful calamity that had come into 
her life? Weeks wore into months, until three had fled; 
but still she bore it helplessly — bore it with a shrinking 
sorrow that was piteous. 

The letters of pleading that had come from Ballard Hil- 
liard had grown too painful for her to read, and standing 
as she did in fear of her own courage, in face of an awful 
grief like hers— of a hideous secret that weighed down her 


MY LITTLE PEIUCESS. 


33 


very soul, she dared not read them longer, but put them 
aside with the seal unbroken. She did not try to conquer 
her love. On the contrary, she lived upon the memory 
of it. 

She avoided Miss Kingman for the first time within her 
remembrance, making an excuse whenever she knew that 
her old friend was coming to the house; and as the weeks 
went by it seemed to her mother that this evident fear of 
one whom she had so loved had become almost a mania. 

“ Carroll,^^ she said to her one day, very gently, when 
this avoidance had become a trifle more marked than 
usual, “ can you not see that you are giving pain to the 
woman who has been the best friend we have ever known? 
•She wants very much that you should come to see her. 
Why will you not?’^ 

A spasm of pain contracted the changed but still beau- 
tiful face. 

“ I can not!’’ she cried, huskily, “ Don’t ask it! 1 
can not!” 

The sweet, sad-eyed woman laid aside her sewing, and 
going to the side of her child knelt, there, winding her 
arms about the girl’s waist. 

“ Dearest, she said, gently, “ what has changed you so 
during the last few months? You are not like yourself at 
all. Can you not trust your mother? I have not spoken 
to you of it, hoping against hope that you would come to 
me; but I have waited until I can wait no longer. The 
silence is wearing me out. Hour after hour I have lain 
awake at night, conscious of the suffering you were endur- 
ing so silently, and it has almost broken my heart that you 
would not let me share it. Carroll, am 1 so little a part 
of your life that you can not trust me with your grief?” 

The anguish of the girl's eyes was startling. 

She endeavored to smile, but the effort was so palpable 
— so pitiable a failure— that it brought tears to the eyes of 

the faithful mother. 

2 


^4 MY LITTLE PRIilCESS. 

“ You are distressing yourself about nothing, dearest,’^ 
she answered, faintly. “ 5^ou are seeing hobgoblins in 
dusk shadows, that is all. You have been ill for so long 
that it has affected you with a certain kind of melan- 
cholia.^^ 

“ Do you think you can deceive me like that? Do you 
think there is anything that you can conceal from your 
mother?'’ cried the unhappy woman, drawing back from 
her. “Ah! child, it is something worse than 1 at first 
thought when you will try so weak a deception as that. 
Carroll, what is it?” 

“Nothing.’* 

“ And you think I will believe you? Do you think I 
have suffered so little in my life that 1 can mistake it in 
another? And most particularly when that other is more 
to me than — almost more than my soul? Oh, Carroll, do 
you know how 1 love you? Have you ever considered how 
a mother adores her child?” 

A hysterical sob rose to the girl’s lips. With the great- 
est difficulty she choked it back, and laughed just a little 
wildly instead. 

“ Get up, dearest,” she exclaimed, assisting her mother 
to a chair. “ You are absolutely growing emotional, and 
all for nothing. Shall 1 tell you .this great secret that you 
have been making such mountains of? Well, it is quite 
true that I have been afraid to tell you, and knowing how 
easily alarmed our dear friend. Miss Kingman, is, I have 
rather avoided her as well, for fear she would upset you 
with her fears. I am not well — that is all. I have been 
feeling unwell aJi fall, and perhaps I have not been quite 
like myself ; but I did not think 1 had carried it so far as 
to make you think ail the things you have, it is abso- 
lutely amusing, J have been too closely in-doors. Sewjng 
does not agree with me. You see, I have become a regu- 
lar nomad. Now put ail your fears aside, for when I have 
recovered from this bilious attach I shall be as well as 


MY LITTLE PRIirCESS. 


35 


ever. Ha! ha! it is funny, is it not? All this emotional- 
ism and breaking of hearts begins and ends in a bilious at- 
tack. Curiously hard upon romance, is it not? Come, 
dear, let us talk of something more interesting than my 
very prosaic health. AYhat do you think I heard to-day 
when 1 went to take Mrs. Langford’s package home?” 

“ What?” 

“ Dora has come home.” 

[ “ Dora Langford?” 

“Yes.” 

r “ How dreadful!” 

There was a momentary pause. Tha swift color had 
surged into Carroll’s cheek; but Mrs. Millbourne did not 
see it, bending as she Vy'as above a piece of sewing. 

“ Why dreadful?” the girl asked, at last, in a voice 
that was hollow and choked. 

“ WTiy? How can you ask? I wonder that she ever 
had the courage after the terrible thing that she had 
done.” 

Another pause; then in a tone still more dense, still 
more awful, if only the mother’s ears had been open to 
hear it: 

“ She had — loved.” 

“And — sinned.” * 

Again that frightful sob was rising in Carroll’s throat, 
but again she choked it back by a laugh so bard, so^cold, 
that Mrs. Millbourne shivered. 

“It is horrible!” she said, dully. “Ah! dearest, we 
can not understand love like that, can we? We come of a 
race too cold, too proud. Suppose— suppose — just to 
argue the case, you know— that you had ever loved — ‘ not 
wisely, but too well ’—and som(?thing — no matter what — 
had separated you from the man who had caused your 
shamo, what would you have done?” 

“ Drowned myself,” answered the woman. 

“ What?” 


36 


MY LITTLE PKIKCESS. 


“ Drowned myself. Do you think that there is anything 
in all the world that should tempt a chaste woman to 
bring that degradation upon herself? Do you think there 
is anything under God^s heavens that would excuse her for 
bringing a shame like that upon her family? If Laura 
Langford had been a child of mine, I would gladly have 
given her to the waves rather than have the disgrace upon 
her that must ever attach to a wifeless mother!’^ 

For a moment a wild agony burned in CarrolFs eyes. 
It seemed that concealment of her hideous suffering was 
no longer possible; then she fell back in her chair, pale, 
almost exhausted under the strength of her own anguish. 
It was frightful! She lifted her sad eyes pleadingly to her 
mothers face: she opened her lips to speak, but the words 
died upon them. She wrung her hands helplessly. There 
was nothing that she could say — nothing — nothing! 

“ Now this IS completed,’^ exclaimed Mrs. Millbourne, 
in her most business-like tone, “lam going to send you* 
with it at once. The walk will do you good. Put on 
your hat while I put up the parcel. 

With a step that staggered, Carroll rose to obey. 

There was an anguish at her heart that cut like a knife. 
She knew that her time had come — she knew that her day 
of grace was over. 

She fastened on her hat, and turned to watch the pale 
woman’s swift fingers as she tied the cord about the pack- 
age. She knew that she was about to say to her an eter- 
nal farewell, and perhaps that knowledge was the bitterest 
one that had as yet come into her suffering life. Still 
there was not a tear in her eye. 

“ There it is,” exclaimed Mrs. Millbourne, brightly. 

‘ Now take it, and be sure you go to call upon Miss King- 
man before you return. You will do it, Carroll?” 

“Yes,’’ she answered, in a -tone that her mother re- 
membered long afterward; “ 1 will call there before I re- 
turn.” 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. o1 

She took the bundle, then, laying it upon the table, 
placed her arms about her mother. 

“ Good-bye, dearest, she said, hoarsely, the dry, tear- 
less gasp touching Mrs. Millbourne with quivering force — 
“good-bye, dearest! Have I pained you of late? I was 
a good daughter to you once, was I not?” 

“ Carroll, wh^t are you saying?” 

“ I should like to hear you say it, dearest. It will be a 
comfort to me. I was a good daughter to you once, was 1 
not?” 

“ You have always been a good daughter to me, my 
darling.” 

“Thank you for that so much — so much! Put your 
arms about my neck in the old fond way and kiss me, will 
you not? There is one thing about us, dearest, that never 
can die, and that is memory. I remember how you used 
to take me upon your knee and tell me how great a part a 
little child formed in its mother's life. You would never 
believeThere could come a time in your life when — But 
what am 1 saying? Kiss me, mother, as you kissed me 
then, and let me go.” 

“ How strangely you act, Carroll!” 

“Don't think of it. 1 am ^ ill and tired. Kiss me, 
dearest, and say ‘ God bless you,' as you did in those old 
days that are dead beyond resurrection.” 

“ God bless you, my precious girl!” 

And then the sob would be no longer repressed. It 
struggled up and rent the air, so filled with agony that 
Mrs. Millbourne cried out; but when she looked there was 
a smile upon her daughter's face. 

“ Thank you, dearest!” she whispered. 

There was one long kiss, and then, without a backward 
glance, Carroll was gone— gone! Only God knows the pity 
of it all! 

And there was no word spoken to call her back. 




38 


MY LITTLE PEINCESS. 


CHAPTER VII. 

A SWIFT, wind-swept snow was bginning to fall that cut 
the face like a whip-lash. The wind whistled about the 
exposed corners of adjacent buildings, sometimes wildly, 
at other times dismally, like a human thing in distress. A 
terrible storm was breaking, and to it Mrs. Millbourne 
listened in dismay. 

More than once she went to the window and, lifting it^ 
looked down into the dark street where the few pedestrians 
were hurrying and scurrying in anxiety to reach the shelter 
of home, however poor a one it might be; but the great 
height made her dizzy, and the wind cut her until she drew 
back with an irrepressible shudder. 

She glanced at the tiny clock upon the little mantel- 
shelf. 

“ Nine o’clock!^’ she said aloud, shivering as her voice 
broke the intense silence of the room. “Nine o’clock, 
and Carroll gone since five! What can it mean? I might 
think she had remained with Miss Kingman, but they 
would have sent me a message surely, knowing how great 
my anxiety would be. Hark!” 

She listened intently, but the light footfall that had at- 
tracted her attention passed the door and turned down the 
hall. 

She sighed wearily, and sinking down in a chair, allowed 
a tear to trickle slowly down her pallid cheek. 

She seemed to lose herself in a bitter reverie for some 
time, during which the storm increased in violence. The 
flakes of snow and ice were hurled against the window- 
panes with the fury of a hurricane, and a gust of peculiar 
violence seemed to shake the tenement to its very founda- 
tion. 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


39 


Mrs. Millbourne started up, clasping her hands in an 
agony of terror. 

“ Ten o’clock!’^ she cried, “ and Carroll still not here 
— still no message from her! I can bear it no longer. 
What shall I do? 1 will go to Miss Kingman. If she is 
not there — ’’ ’ ' 

The poor woman seemed incapable of completing the 
thought. Her pale lips were set in a rigid line, her hag- 
gard eyes contained a desperation that was utterly foreign 
to their usual placidity. 

For a moment she paused to listen to the wild raging of 
the storm, then seeming to realize without the power of 
deduction that either bonnet or umbrella would be worse 
than useless, she wound a shawl about her head and shoul- 
ders and hurried down the long flights of stairs to the 
street. 

A great gust of wind and sleet tore at her face like the 
claws of some fierce animal; but if she felt it she paid no 
heed. 

The streets were deserted save for an occasional truck 
which staggered through the storm; yet that hideous pre- 
sentiment of impending evil to her darling lent strength 
to the weary, flagging steps of the wi*etched woman. 

She turned into a cross-street, the wind and sleet seem- 
ing to gain new ascendency. More than once she fell pros- 
trate upon her face; but with difficulty she scrambled to 
her feet again and tottered on. The snow, freezing as it 
fell, and swept by the wind, still cut her cruelly. Occa- 
sionally she was forced to clutch at an iron railing to pre- 
vent herself from falling, her fingers torn and bleeding as 
they left their cold support. 

Not once, under all the difficulties by which she was sur- 
rounded, was she tempted to turn back. Her heart seemed 
so cold and sick under the awful fear that oppressed her 
that she thought of nothing but to reach the home of her 


40 


IIY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


one friend. She dared not analyze her own fears, but 
with bent head and tottering steps she staggered on. 

She reached Broadway at last, faint, almost exhausted, 
and supported herself by one of the street lamps until a 
car drawn by fagged and jaded horses came up. She 
hailed it and got in. 

There were few passengers, but those that were within 
she scarcely saw. Her ghastly face may have attracted 
them, but she was only one more of those poor unfortu- 
nates whom we pass daily — almost hourly — in our wander- 
ings, so common that we even forget to pity. 

Her wild eyes were fixed ever upon the street, a shiver 
passing over her occasionally as a renewed burst of wind 
spoke of the increase of the storm. Then at last she sig- 
naled to the conductor and left the car. 

The wind carried her almost off her feet; but she drew 
her shawl more closely and went onward. 

Only a little way now. The lights from the houses of 
fashion flickered into the streets, an occasional note of 
music was heard above the voice of the storm; but Milli- 
cent Millbourne was deaf to sound. Once or twice she 
paused and peered through the shadowy light at the num- 
bers upon the houses, then going onward as rapidly as the 
storm and her own weariness would permit, she counted 
the houses. 

“ It is here!^^ she moaned at last. “ God grant that 1 
may find her safe!'^ 

She paused for a moment as if her frail strength had 
deserted her, then by a supreme eSort, beaten back as she 
was at every step by the fierceness of the stoim, she 
mounted the stoop and pulled violently at the bell. 

Protected somewhat from the storm, she leaned against 
the inner door, fighting back the faintness that she felt 
was overcoming her. Then she became conscious that a 
stream of light from the hall had fallen over her. By a 
supreme effort she drew herself up and turned to the serv- 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 41 

ant; but everything grew dark before her. 8he staggered, 
and, throwing out her hand, caught the man’s arm. 

“ Miss Kingman!” she gasped. “ Quick! 1 must see 
her!” 

r 

Acquainted as he was with the numerous charities of his 
mistress, the man did not hesitate, but drew the dripping 
creature inside the elegant hall. 

“ Wait here,” he said to. her, “ and I will speak to Miss 
Kingman.” 

But Millicent Millbourne had already stood all that her 
frail constitution could endure. Blindly she groped her 
way after him,iand as he lifted the porti(^re of the draw- 
ing-room she pushed by him. 

As one r-ecognizes a shadow, she saw Geraldine King- 
man rise and come toward her. 

“ Where is she?” gasped the miserable mother, already 
conscious of how little hope she had had from the begin- 
ning. “ Is Carroll here?’’ 

“ Carroll?” 

“ Yes. For God’s sake, speak quick!” 

“ She is not here— has not been here. Oh, Mrs. Mill- 
bourne, what has happened?” 

But there was no answer. The white-faced figure 
swayed for a moment, then fell headlong into the arms of 
the young man who was Geraldine Kingman’s guest. 

He was scarcely less pale than she. With set lips and a 
wild burning in the eyes which spoke more plainly than 
words of his great anxiety, he lifted the frail form in his 
arms, all wet and dripping as she was, and carried her to 
a sofa in the library. He lowered her head, and while 
Geraldine Kingman watched in silent surprise, he restored 
his patient to consciousness. . 

When the great blue eyes opened once again. Miss King- 
man. caught his arm. 

“ Thomas will^carry her to my boudoir, Ballard,” she 
exclaimed, “ and my maid will — ” 


42 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


But Ballard Hilliard shook his head. 

“ Wait!'" he said, in a tone she had never heard him 
use before. “We must know first what has brought her 
here at this hour and upon a night like this."" 

Already Millicent Millbourne had struggled to a sitting 
posture, and was gazing from one to the other in wildest 
dismay. Very gently Ballard Hilliard took her hands in 
his, and controlling his own em9tion as best he could, said 
almost tenderly: 

“ Try to calm yourself, madame, and tell us what has 
happened. Remember that you are with friends who will 
go to any length to assist you. It is of Miss Carroll Mill- 
bourne that you were speaking, is it not?"" 

“Yes, yes,"" she answered, hoarsely, “my daughter. 
She left me at five o"cloek to return a piece of work. She 
said that she would call here before, her return. At ten 
she had not come. "" 

Ballard Hilliard"s face grew still more grave, 
i “ Perhaps — "" he began, but she interrupted him. 

“ It may seem foolish to be so frightened,"" she cried, 
miserably, “ but her manner at leaving me was so strange, 
so very strange. Oh, my God ! my God I Why did I not 
think then and keep her with me?"" 

“ Calm yourself, dear madame,"" exclaimed Hilliard, 
with great difficulty maintaining his own self-control. 
“ Remember your daughter's fate may depend upon it. 
Tell me as nearly as you can all that occurred. Keep 
back nothing, for upon a small detail everything may de- 
pend."" 

And then followed a minute account of that afternoon. 
A spasm of pain had settled upon Ballard Hilliard's feat- 
ures. He appeared gray and old, but not a word escaped 
his lips as that wretched mother repeated the last sentence 
that she had heard fall from her daughter's lips — a sen- 
tence that was engraved upon her heart forever. 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 43 

“ Kiss me, dearest, and say ‘ God bless you,^ as you did 
in those old days that are dead beyond resurrection.’^ 

And then Mrs. Millbourne described that sob that had 
filled even the air with agony. 

“ What did you say was the number of the house where 
she went to return the sewing?” asked Hilliard, so hoarse- 
ly that neither of them would have recognized his voice. 

It was given again. “ Eemain here until my return,” 
he cried, unable to repress some slight expression of his ab- 
sorbing anguish. “ When I return I will bring news of 
her. You can do nothing. Leave everything to me, and 
I will find her as surely as Heaven is above us.” 

He strode from the room without a glance in the direc- 
tion of his fiancee, forgetful even of her existence, uncon- 
scious that she stood beside him as he paused upon the 
stoop to button his great-coat about him before plunging 
into the storm. 


CHAPTEE VIII. 

With hat drawn down closely over his eyes and coat 
buttoned about his throat, Ballard Hilliard faced the fierc- 
est storm that New York had known in years. 

Yet he scarcely seemed to feel it. The gale that would 
have made progress almost impossible for another seemed 
to comfort his raging spirit. The cutting of the wind 
across his face, strange as it may seem, was almost refresh- 
ing. He was well-nigh crazed under his awful anxiety for 
the girl whom he loved better than he did his life, and but 
for his fear for her safety, the storm would have been a 
positive relief to his suffering. 

He strode on with bent head, unconscious of the tre- 
mendous effort he was making to keep his feet, blinded by 
the sleet and snow that blew in gusts into his eyes, yet 
walking with comparative rapidity, led by intuition rather 
than any connected reason. He seemed stunned by the 
fear that paralyzed his heart. 


44 


MY LITTLE PRIKCESS. 


There was not a cab to be seen, and no line of cars that 
led to the address that Mrs. Millbourne had given; but the 
distance was not great, and it was with something like a 
revival of hope that he paused before the house that she 
had indicated, to make sure of the number, then staggered 
up the stoop and rang the bell. 

It was then for the first lime that he realized that he 
was almost frozen. His stifi fingers nearly refused when 
called upon to fasten themselves about the bell-knob, his 
mustache was frozen in a straight icicle across his mouth, 
and when the flood of light from the hall fell upon him as 
the door was opened by the servant, he could scarcely con- 
trol his tongue sufiBciently to ask his question: “ Is Mrs. 
Lahmen at home?” 

The servant stared in some surprise that any one should 
call at that hour and in a storm so violent; but seeing that 
it was a gentleman who had addressed her, she answered: 

“ Yes, sir, 1 think so. Will you walk in?” 

Grateful for the warmth that was offered, and scarcely 
able to control his anxiety, he stepped inside, allowed the 
girl to close the door, then stationed himself near the radi- 
ator in the hall. 

“ I will wait here,” he said to the maid. “ 1 am too 
wet to go into the drawing-room. Say to Mrs. Lahmen 
that I will not detain her a moment.” 

The girl departed upon her errand, and shortly after a 
lady descended the stairs. Hilliard had somewhat recov- 
ered from the terrible chill, and with hat in hand went for- 
ward to meet her. 

“ I must apologize for intruding upon you at this hour, 
Mrs. Lahmen,” he said, in his accustomed high-bred way 
that no one ever by any chance mistook; “ but 1 am very 
anxious about a young lady who is thought to have come 
to your house upon an errand this afternoon, and who has 
not as yet returned home. 1 refer to Miss Carroll Mill- 
bourne. Is she here?” 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


45 


“ Carroll Millbourne? Oh, no! She was here a little 
after five o’clock, but left before the breaking of the storm. 
She certainly had ample time to have reached home long 
before it began to snow.” 

A. faintness seized upon Ballard Hilliard. He staggered 
against the wall, his face ghastly in its set pallor. For a 
moment it seemed that he had utterly lost control of him- 
self. Mrs. Lahmen turned hurriedly to her servant. 

“ Tell Thomas to bring some brandy at once, and get a 
chair for this gentleman,” she exclaimed. 

Hilliard received the chair gratefully, in a measure re- 
covering himself, and smiled at Mrs. Lahmen in a way 
that touched her heart. 

“lam sorry to trouble you,” he said, as quietly as he 
could force his shaking voice to speak; “ but my fear for 
Miss Millbourne almost overcame me for the moment. I 
have quite recovered from the weakness now. I can’t de- 
scribe the storm to you. It is frightful, and she has not 
reached home. Will you tell me what you can of her call 
here?” 

“ There seems to be so little to tell,” answered the lady, 
hesitatingly; “ yet now that you recall it all to me, I re- 
member that there was something most peculiar in Miss 
Millbourne’s manner. She refused to receive the money 
- that was due her mother for the work that she had done, 
but begged me to send it to her to-morrow morning. 1 
recall that there was'a most peculiar expression upon her 
face when she made the request, but naturally, not being 
particularly well acquainted with her, 1 asked no questions. 
And now that you have brought it to my memory with 
your interrogation, there was one other point that attracted 
my attention. The nurse was coming in with baby at the 
time that Miss Millbourne was leaving. She took the child 
from nurse’s arms, kissed her passionately, laid her back, 
and hurried from the room.” 

But the latter remembrance seemed not to affect Hil- 


46 


MY LITTLE PliINCESS. 


Hard as the former had done. He knew perfectly well that ^ 
the Millbournes were not in such affluent circumstances 
that they could refuse to receive money that was rightly 
their due, and the fact struck him with peculiar signifi- 
cance. 

He took the glass of brandy that t.he servant had 
brought, and swallowed it as if the fiery liquid had been 
water; then he arose. He did not care to communicate 
his fears to this woman; but in a Voice that was unrecog- 
nizably hoarse, he asked: 

, “Isthatalir^ 

“ I think so.^^ 

“ She said nothing about where she was going from 
here?^' 

“ Nothing.^’ 

' “I thank you very much for your kindness, and wish 
you good-evening. 

“ You are quite welcome to the little 1 have been able 
to tell you; but 1 should like for you to let me know when 
Miss Millbourne is safe. There is something in the extra- 
ordinary beauty of the child that seems to attract every one 
to her, and I shall feel anxious until I know that she is 
with her friends again.'’ 

Some irrepressible impulse caused Ballard Hilliard to 
put out his hand and grasp that of the woman beside him. 
He felt her sympathy for the girl he loved in the tone of 
her kind voice, and it touched him deeply. 

“ Thank you," he said, simply. “ 1 shall do so." And 
then Mrs. Lahmen held the door open for him until he had 
once more faced the storm, but now without that hope that 
had buoyed him up during the walk there. 

His heart was torn with all kinds of fears. What had 
happened to Carroll? Why had she left her home in that 
strange way? What had caused the significant conversa- 
tion with her mother? 

And then the horrible fear came over him that she had 


MY LITTLE PIlIKCESS. 


4 ? 


killed herself. He turned giddy and held to the railing 
for support; but he put the thought from him with a 
savage force that seemed to impart strength. He recov- 
ered himself and went doggedly on. 

The storm was still in the fiercest of its struggle, but he 
pressed onward with a resolution that would have carried 
him through a greater difficulty. 

He went to the nearest police station and had the alarm 
sent out; then he realized, with a sinking of the heart, 
that he had done all he could do. 

Yet how was he to face that wretched mother again, be- 
lieving as he did that he was the cause of her daughter’s 
strange disappearance, and with nothing to tell her but 
that her worst fears were realized — that there was nothing 
to tell, that Carroll’s fate was as much in darkness as ever? 

He groaned audibly. His own heart seemed breaking • 
under the greatness of his grief, yet his first thought was 
of that miserable mother whom he had worse than robbed 
of more than her life. How he cursed himself and his own 
mad folly that had plunged them all in that bitter misery! 
Yet it was too late to recall it. The act was in that dead 
past that even the power of a God can not erase. 

If he could have died out there in the storm rather than 
go back and face those two women, both of whom he had 
so cruelly wronged, it would have been a happier fate; but 
there was little cowardice in the nature of Ballard Hilliard. 
He returned to them, and he went as quickly as the storm 
would allow. 

But it was a terrible struggle. Chilled as he already 
was to the very marrow of his bones, weary and heart-sore, ‘ 
faint from the sickening fear upon him, thinking at every 
step how impossible it was for a frail thing like Carroll to 
live through such a storm, the walk was a terrible one. 

Having arrived at the house, he pulled the bell feebly, 
but not so feebly but that it was heard by the two anxious 
women within. 


48 


MY LITTLE rillNCESS. 


Miss Kingman herself it was who answered the sum- 
mons. She seized him by the arm and almost dragged 
him into the house. Neither seemed capable of putting 
the question that was spoken by both pairs of anxious^ 
suffering eyes; but Hilliard did not even see his fiancee. 
He was looking at the mother of the girl whom he had so 
madly loved, thinking of the terrible blow that he must 
inflict. He pushed Geraldine Kingman from him without 
a glance in her direction, and going to Mrs. Millbourne, 
he took both her hands in his. 

“ You .must not despair,^^ he said, hoarsely, trying to 
infuse his voice with a courage he was far from feeling, 
and failing piteously. “ I have not found her, but 1 swear 
to you that, if your child is still upon this earth, she shall 
be restored to you! Try to trust me, if you can, as you 
would trust your own son. 

But the last words were uttered to deaf ears, for Mrs. 
Millbourne was lying silently upon the fioor, with up- 
turned, unconscious face. 

There was an expression of bewilderment and horror 
upon Miss Kingman^s face that was not translatable; but 
Hilliard was blind to all that. She watched him, half 
stunned, as for the second time he lifted the still body in 
his stiff, numb arms. 


CHAPTER IX. 

Whem Carroll left the residence of Mrs. Lahmen she 
paused at the foot of the stoop, half bewildered under the 
uncertainty and terror that were upon her. 

The act of leaving home was no suddenly conceived 
notion with her. She had known for some time that it 
must be. done sooner or later to save herself from the 
shame that she had brcyight upon herself and her mother; 
but, like all women, she had hoped against hope for that 
interposition of Providence that never comes. But it was 


MY LITTLE PRIKCESS. 


49 


^Iniosfc with the suddenness of a blow that she realized that 
the time had come when her departure could be in safety 
postponed no longer. 

Yet as much as she had thought of the subject in the 
silence and darkness o£ her own chamber, she had arrived 
at no conclusion as to what she should do. 

She must go away. That seemed to be the only definite 
idea that she possessed, and i^t had so completely prostrated 
her mentally that she had been able to think out no plan 
by which she could aid herself. 

“ What am 1 to do?^^ she asked of herself, helplessly, as 
she stood there under the threatening sky. “ Shall I take 
her advice and drown my misery and my shame together? 
God help me, I can not — I can not! I have not the right. 
If it were but my worthless life alone — but, no; it can not 
be! 1 must live for the sake of — Thou, God, who had 
I)ity upon the Magdalene, have mercy upon me!^^ 

She turned away aimlessly and walked onward with bent 
head, unconscious of the direction she was taking, too 
much stunned by the awfulness of her position to be able 
to think or plan even remotely for her future. 

The storm had not broken, but the wind was blowing 
heavily — a fierce, biting gale that cut her like a knife — 
but she did not pause to consider it. She was leaving for- 
ever everything that life had ever held dear to her — her 
mother, her friend, her lover! There was nothing left — 
nothing! Death would have been so easy to her, and yet 
she dared not consider that. 

She was in the teeth of a hideous agony, driven by the 
most cruel fate that ever scourged an innocent and help- 
less girl. 

And, after all, the fault was not hers, but an error of 
that great mastering passion, Love, that is God-given. 

She was too wearily miserable to consider the horrible 
uncertainty, the frightful dangers of the unknown life 
into which she was going; but with semi-unconsciousness 


50 


MY LITTLE rRINCESS. 


she went onward. She w'as recalled to a knowledge of 
her surroundings by the bustle and confusion around her 
— the crossing of street-cars, the hurrying of men and 
women — and looking about her almost for the first time, 
she realized that she was in front of the Grand Central 
Depot. 

She paused and tried to collect her wits. She had saved 
a little money from the pittance she had been enabled to 
earn, knowing that this day was at hand; and almost with- 
out taking time for a second of reflection, she followed the 
people who were entering the station. 

There was a girl just in front of her — a girl about her 
own age and size — a girl that was not unlike her as to her 
back and hair — and as she followed, a desire to see the 
face of this traveler, who was also alone, possessed her. 
She quickened her steps. The face was not pretty, but 
there was an expression of such sorrow in it that CarroU 
felt herself instinctively drawn to the stranger. She 
walked directly behind her to the window of the ticket - 
office. 

In a soft voice that spoke of considerable refinement, 
the stranger asked for a ticket for Albany; and following 
her example, Carroll opened her well-worn purse and re- 
peated the request. The girl turned and glanced at her 
fellow-travel er. The same magnetism that had attracted 
Carrol] seemed to reach her, for as she met the girFs e^^e 
a smile passed over her plain, pale face. 

Carroll smiled in return. Is- it singular that suffering 
recognizes its companion? There are strange fatalities in 
this curious old world of ours. 

Margaret Denning stopped when she had passed the 
ticket-office, and waited until Carroll had received her 
change, 

“ Are you going to Albany?’^ she asked, quietly. 

“Yes.^’ 

“ Are you alone ?’^ 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


51 


“ Yes.’^ 

“ Shall we not go together, then? Traveling alone is 
not nearly so pleasant as when one has an agreeable com- 
panion/’ 

“ Perhaps I shall not prove very agreeable, in so far as 
being entertaining goes, but I shall be very glad of your 
society,” answered Carroll, thankful that something was 
to interrupt the misery of her own reflections. 

The two walked on together and took their seats in the 
train. 

“ Do you live in Albany?” asked Miss Denning, with a 
smile that was most winning. 

“ No; I have never been there in my life. Do you know 
the city?” 

“Not at all. The fact is that I am sadly afraid I am 
going upon a fool’s errand. My mother died three years 
ago, leaving me all alone in the world. She had one sis- 
ter, whose address she did not know; but they had loved 
each other very dearly in their girlhood, and my mother 
made me promise that if ever I heard of her I would go 
to see her, and, if welcome, remain under her care. 1 
heard last week that she was living in Albany, though I 
am as yet uncertain of the address. The consequence is 
that I have not written, but am going there hoping that 1 
may find her. It is a terrible struggle for a girl to live in 
this world alone.” 

Carroll shivered. 

“ It must be,” she said, drearily. 

“ Are you going to friends?” asked the girl, kindly. 

“No; I have none. I am going to make my own way 
in the world.” 

Miss Denning looked at her sharply; but seeing the 
whitened pain and misery in the young face, she swallowed 
the words that were upon her lips, and said instead: 

“You are very pretty — cruelly pretty. It will bo worse ‘ 
for you than it has been for me. God pity you!” 


52 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


There was a long silence between them, during which 
each seemed busy with her own most painful reflections. 
The train was running swiftly. The darkness had come 
suddenly, and, the wind was whistling with peculiar fierce- 
ness. Several times the brakeman came into the car and 
filled the already crimson stove with coals, for the night 
was one of intense coldness. The storm was coming, and 
many persons, with their hands shading their eyes, peered 
into the darkness without through the windows, shivering 
as they realized the strength of the hurricane, 
i Then great flakes of snow pattered against the glass — 
snow that froze tightly as it fell. 

“ It is a wild- night without,^^ a hoarse voice at the end 
of the car said aloud. “ I don’t remember to have seen a 
storm like this in twenty years. 

There was silence again, and the people shuddered. 

Still the train moved rapidly, the shrill scream of the 
locomotive, heard occasionally above the voice of the wind, 
sounding like, some human thing gasping for help. The 
passengers huddled together, as if some premonition of 
impending danger hung over them and there was hope of 
courage in their proximity to one another. 

“It is frightful!” whispered Carroll to her new friend, 
drawing a trifle closer to her. “ Are not you afraid?” 

Miss Denning laughed softly. 

“No!” she answered. “ There is something grand to 
me in a superb storm like this. 1 am a fatalist, or per- 
haps I should say, a believer in predestination. God 
knows best, and I am willing to leave my life in Ilis 
hands. No; I am not afraid.” 

The quietness of the tone seemed to calm Carroll, for 
she sat for some moments forgetful of her own suffering 
in listening to the wildness of the wind as it swept madly 
about the car. 

“It is cold, don’t you think?’^ asked Miss Denning, 
after another long pause. 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


53 


“ Eather.^^ 

“ Let us go closer to the stove. 

. “ But in the event of an accident — 

“ Nonsense! Why should there be one to-night more 
than any other night 

“ 1 don’t know, but—” 

“ You are nervous. Don’t be foolish.” 

“lam afraid 1 can’t help it.” 

“ Do you think if God intended that you should die He 
would save you because you happen to be sitting in this 
seat instead of over there? Come!” 

She arose, and smiling down upon Carroll with that 
same fascinating smile that she had seen upon the plain 
features once before, held out her hand. Carroll arose at 
once. 

There was an anxious expression upon her face; a fear 
that had driven out misery shone upon her countenance. 

The train had slowed up for some reason, and almost 
every face in the car was shaded as the passengers peered 
from the windows. 

“ Looks like a bridge,” said some one as Carroll was 
passing. 

Miss Denning had already reached her seat and had 
taken the one next the window, making room for Carroll 
beside her. There was a sudden lurch of the car that 
threw Carroll backward before she had reached it. She 
caught upon one of the seats and saved herself from fall- 
ing; but before she could recover her balance there was a 
fierce howl of the wind more terrible than all the rest. 
For a moment the moving train seemed to quiver, then — 
God knows what happened. 

There was a wild shriek from a thousand throats— and 
silence! 


54 


MY LITTLE PRllTCESS. 


CHAPTER X. 

Computed in minutes, perhaps that hideous silence con- 
tinued scarcely two, but to those miserable beings, para- 
lyzed with fright, lying there stricken, wounded, dying in 
the debris, it seemed ages; but it is curious how quickly 
the human mind will recover from a shock, no matter how 
stunning in its effect. 

It was from a trestle-work that crossed a deep ravine 
that the train had been blown, and there, at the 'bottom, 
the cars were smashed in pieces, some lying across each 
other, others stretched out stark and stiff like huge dead 
animals, but all telling their own story of death and de- 
struction. 

As soon as they had realized what had happened, those 
who had escaped unhurt began to pull themselves from the 
broken timbers that had fallen upon and pinioned them. 
Then began the groans and curses from the men, shrieks 
from the women, and piteous cries from children, that 
make a scene like that give a man such as Dante a con- 
ception of Inferno. 

But for all their oaths and blasphemy, the men worked 
like Trojans. Twenty had, perhaps, made their escape 
from the ruins and were engaged in the charitable work of 
assisting others, when suddenly there was a cry of horror 
from every lip, and for a single second the hands that an- 
swered the will of sympathetic hearts were stopped under 
the wild fear that took possession of them. 

“ Fire! The cars are on fire!’' 

It was but too true. The overturned stoves had begun 
to do their deadly work, and the fiames, fanned to fury 
by the terrible gale, leaped higher and higher, licking 
about in every direction in search of fresh fuel for its hide- 
ous work. 




MY LITTLE TRINCESS. 


55 


The red glare^ and crackling of the flames, the fierce roar 
of the wind, the groans and cries of the doomed wretches, 
completed a scene that could only be surpassed in horror 
by the very center of Hades. 

But the terrors of the situation only seemed to lend new 
strength to that noble little band of rescuers, and they 
worked with the energy born of despair. A few more 
workers were added to their number, men who had been 
released from some object which had held them prisoners, 
and, forgetful of their own cuts and bruises, they tugged 
at heavy objects that confined their fellow-sufierers, their 
faces blackened with smoke, their willing hands blistered 
with the flames; but still they paused not. 

How readily we can understand, under circumstances 
like these, that noble, generous man was created in the 
likeness of God! 

Person after person was taken from the burning wreck 
and laid upon the ground under the pouring sleet and 
snow. There was no time to ascertain whether they were 
living or dead, for there were others to be saved. Over- 
coats were thrown over the women until the supply was 
exhausted, and the others were forced to take their chances 
with the unconscious men. 

It was a night to be remembered through all ages. 

It is singular with what wonderful rapidity bad news 
flies, sometimes apparently without any means of trans- 
portation whatever. No one knew how they heard the 
news, but very soon lanterns were seen to flicker through 
the pitchy darkness. There were hasty orders given by 
the recruits, and the work went on with renewed energy. 

But there was no time to be lost. The flames were 
gaining! But a few more bodies, dead or alive, could be 
rescued, and then the effort must be abandoned. 

A noble man, with eyebrows and lashes burned from his 
face, was making a heroic endeavor to extricate a body 
from under one of the burning seats that held it firmly. 


56 


my little PEIIS’CESS. 

His hands were blistered, but he would not yield to pain, 
and with an ettort born of fury he tore the broken seat 
aside and lifted the small form in his arms. 

“ Poor child!” he muttered. “ I did my best, but it 
is too late. I wonder what mother will weep for her!” 

He laid her tenderly upon the ground and turned to 
"survey the scene. 

There was nothing more that could be done. Human 
aid was powerless. 

The dark, motionless figures of the men stood there for 
a moment surveying the ruins under the still glaring light 
of the fire, then wearily turned to their self-imposed 
charges. 

“What are we to do with these people?'^ some one 
asked, in stentorian tones, the uncanny sound of the voice 
making every one shiver. “ Is there any one here who 
knows the country?” 

“ My house is just up the hill,” answered a man whose 
face no one could see. “It is large, and at the service of 
the people, if we can manage to get them there.” 

But there was no question of “ if ” with those great- 
hearted men. They set to work with a will to improvise 
stretchers, and some with them, others carrying their 
heavy burdens in their arms, they followed the faint 
flicker of a lantern, and staggered up the hill to the hand- 
some house at the top. 

The doors were thrown open, and with surprising 
rapidity the house was converted into a temporary hos- 
pital as well as morgue. 

The beds were utilized for those who were most hurt, 
until the supply was exhausted, the dead were placed upon 
chairs or upon the floor, and the wreck in tji^e ravine left 
to itself until the light of morning would allow the men to 
finish their work for the dead. 

The women of the household, as well as those who had 
escaped comparatively unhurt from the accident, worked 


MY LITTLE PEINCESS. 


57 


with a will under the direction of three physicians who 
were upon' the train, and what* service human aid could 
give was rendered to those suffering beings. 

One of the ladies of the house bent with a physician over 
a tiny, childish body that lay upon a couch, 

“ Do you think she is dead, doctor?’^ she asked, glanc- 
ing into his anxious, puzzled face. 

“ No,^' he answered; “ she is not dead, but it is impos- 
sible to tell just yet how badly hurt she is.^^ 

“ I am glad she is not dead, at all events. She is so 
beautiful! It would be a terrible blow to her mother,’^ 

“And to her husband, perhaps. 

“ Her husband?’" 

“Yes; she is married, I think. Will you examine her 
while I am waiting upon the others, and see if there is 
anything by which she can be identified?"" 

As Mrs. Jeffers bent over the white face upon the sofa 
pillow, she fancied she saw a crimson glow in the cheeks. 
A moment later she was convinced that she was not mis- 
taken, for the great eyes were opened and fixed upon her. 

There was a minute of bewilderment, then the little fig- 
ure sat up. 

“ 1 remember now,"" she said, piteously, passing her 
hand across her eyes. “ It was an accident to the train, 
was it not?"" 

“Yes,"" answered Mrs. Jeffers, tenderly. “,Are you 
much hurt? What seems to be the matter with you?"" 

“ Nothing. I am dazed, that is all. Was any one 
hurt?’" 

“ It was frightful! But you must not ask me any ques- 
tions now. Lie down. You are very weak and white, 
and may not be so well as you think. To-morrow you 
shall know everything that I can tell you. "" 

“But there is no reason why I should nol know now. 1 
am not hurt."" 

“ There are numbers killed outright. You are very 


ILY LITTLE PEINCESS. 


5 ^ 

fortunate to have escaped with your life. But now, will 
you not tell me your name and where we can telegraph to 
your friends? You know the news of the disaster will be 
in the papers to-morrow, and your family will be anxious 
concerning you unless they know that you are quite safe.’^ 

A crimson glow again covered the girBs face. 

“ There is no one to whom you could telegraph,^" she 
answered, huskily. 

“ Not your husband?’’ 

There was a momentary hesitation upon the part of the 
girl, then with downcast eyes she answered, faintly: 

“ He is dead.” 

“ Poor child — poor little helpless thing! You are very 
young for that.” 

The sad eyes that were lifted to the woman’s face filled 
with tears. There was an instant of hesitation, then Mrs. 
Jeffers leaned over and kissed the sweet, childish lips. 

The girl arose immediately. . 

“You see I am quite recovered,” she said, hurriedly. 
“ If there are others hurt, let me help you with them.” 

And knowing that there were so few to do what was re- 
quired to be done, Mrs. Jeffers consented. 

Together the two left the room and entered the great 
drawing-room, which for the time had been converted into 
a dead-house. 

Near the door, upon two chairs, lay a girl, part of her 
hair streaming across her face, which was burned until 
absolutely unrecognizable. Her clothes had been burned 
from the poor blistered body, which was protected by a 
sheet thrown across it. 

As Mrs. Jeffers with her companion entered the room, a 
few persons were standing beside the corpse, one man with 
a pencil and paper in his hand, evidently the reporter for 
a paper. 

Some one said in an under-tone, as the two ladies en- 
tered; 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


59 


“ That young lady can identify her. They were travel- 
ing together. 

The young man turned round. 

For a moment the room swam "before the eyes of the 
girl. She knew that a question was being put to her, but 
a giddiness that was almost unconsciou^ess overcame her, 
and she staggered against the door. Sho had realized in 
an instant what had happened, and as the question was 
asked, her resolution was taken. 

“ Can you tell us who this lady is?^^ 

“ Yes,^^ she answered, faintly. “ Her name is Carroll 
Millbourne. She is from New York.^' 


CHAPTER XL 

The audacity of her own falsehood left Carroll Mill- 
bourne weak and trembling, leaning against the wall for 
the support that her limbs refused her. 

She had given that dead girl her name — that poor creat- 
ure of whose identity she was entirely unaware, knowing 
that her friends would accept tire statement as correct, 
knowing that there was scarcely a chance that she should 
be detected in the fraud, for the face was burned beyond 
recognition, while not an atom of her original clothing re- 
mained upon the poor charred body. There was the hair 
left, to be sure, and 'the stature remained the same; but 
she had before remarked haw nearly like her own they 
were. She knew, therefore, that ki so far as her mother 
and those others whom she had left behind were con- 
cerned, she would be as dead when that lifeless body was 
sent them as if it were in reality Carroll Millbourne who 
would lie in the grave that they would prepare. 

She was not slow to recognize the deliverance that God 
had sent, and while she deplored the necessity of false- 
hood, she thanked Him for sending her a way to save her- 
self a greater sin. 


60 . MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 

“Can you give me her address?” asked the reporter, 
kindly. 

It was given in faint, trembling tones; then some one 
noticed how white she had grown under the emotion thafc 
had overtaken her. An arm was thrown about her and 
she was led from the room. 

It was not until she was placed upon the same sofa in 
the library upon which she had returned to consciousness, 
that Carroll raised her eyes to the face of her companion; 
but naturally given to thinking quickly, she had already 
reviewed the situation with singular clearness. 

The woman beside her was beyond her prime, but the 
silver hair framed a countenance of peculiar beauty, if of 
peculiar firmness. There was not a weak line in the aris- 
tocratic old face, unless tenderness and gentleness could be 
classed as weakness. There was an expression of pride in 
the well-cut lips that impressed Carroll even in her nerv- 
ous condition, but instinctively she felt that she could trust 
the lady who held her hands so kindly. 

“ The little girl in the other room is your sister, is she 
not?” the woman asked. 

“No, madame,” answered Carroll, endeavoring to speak 
distinctly, though her voice trembled piteously. “We 
were no relation whatever.” 

“ You were close friends, then?” 

“ Not even that. I never saw her until yesterday. We 
were traveling together, because we were going to the same 
place to try to make our way in the world. It was a vent- 
ure with both of us, therefore we were somewhat confi- 
dential.” 

“You are going to fill some position, then?” 

“ I am going to try. 1 am afraid I am very ignorant 
for anything of that sort; but it seems to me that there 
should always be something for willing hands to do.” 

“ There is no definite position, then?” 

“ Oh, no! I am going to try to get work, that is all.” 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 61 

“ But you are very young to be alone in the world and 
dependent upon yourself. 

A wan smile made Carroirs face extremely beautiful. 

“1 am not so young as 1 look. My youthful appear- 
ance has always been against me.^^ 

“ Not so much as your beauty will be in the life to 
which you are going. What can you do?^^ 

“ Very little, 1 am afraid. 

“ Vou must pardon me for questioning you so closely, 
but there may be something that I can do to assist you, 
and in that event I should be very glad. I was on the 
same train with you last night, though 1 donH believe we 
were in the same car, and it seems to me that it is a duty 
I owe to God for having allowed me to escape that I 
should do something for one of His creatures in ret urn. 

“ God has been doubly good to me in that He spared 
my life and sent me you. I can not sufficiently thank 
you, madame.^’ 

“ Don’t try yet, as I have done nothing for which to be 
thanked; but let us go over a list of your accomplish- 
ments — sort of schedule, so to speak,” said the lady, with 
a peculiarly winning smile. “ You say you must make 
your own living. Now, what can you do?” 

A puzzled expression crossed Carroll’s face. 

“ 1 am very ignorant,” she said, helplessly. “ Let me 
see — I can sew fairly well, and — and — ” 

She paused and glanced into the woman’s face appeal- 

iogly* 

“ Can you read aloud well?” 

“ Tolerably well.” 

“ Can you sing?” 

“ I can sing, but can not play. We have always been 
poor, and my voice is not cultivated, save in so far as my 
father was able to teach me, and that was very little.” 

“ Do you speak any of the languages?” 

“ French a little. My mother spoke it well, but she 


G2 MY LITTLE PRIKCESS. 

was ill SO much that she had small opportunity of teach- 
ing me. 1 think I read it better than 1 speak it.'' 

“ That is good. What kind of a position did you ex- 
pect to fill when you reached your destination — that is, for 
what should you have applied?" 

A shade of bewilderment crossed Carroll's brow. In 
truth, she had not thought at all; but she dared not tell 
this practical woman that With some embarrassment 
she answered: 

“ I suppose there would have been nothing for it but to 
have gone to an employment agency and have taken any- 
thing that was given me. " 

The lady shook her head dubiously. 

“A most uncertain dependence," she said, quietly. 
“ How should you like to go home with me? It will be 
very easy to try you and see in what way you can be use- 
ful; then, if the plan fails, neither you nor I will be worse 
ofi than before." 

Carroll's eyes filled with tears. 

“ I don't know how 1 have deserved this kindness," she 
said, brokenly. 

“ Then you accept?" 

“ Most gladly." 

“ At least, you will be safe with me for the time, and if 
there is nothing else that I can do, I can advise you as to 
the future." 

“ I will try very hard to please you in any position in 
which you may place me." 

Ho one could look into the honest little face and doubt 
that. 

“ I am sure of that. But we have made all these ar- 
rangements without even knowing each other's names. I 
am Mrs. Shannon." 

It hurt Carroll grievously to be compelled to begin her 
new life with this kind woman with a lie; but in order to 


MY LITTLE PRIKCESS. CS 

save her mother the shame that had already ruined her 
own life, she knew that it must be done. 

Her eyes fell; but she raised them bravely, and an- 
swered, without a tremor in her voice: 

“ My name is Coralie — Coralie Mills. I am a widow. 

“Coralie! That is very pretty and suited to you. 
There is just another thing that we have not mentioned; 
were you going to the destination which you had chosen 
for any special reason?'^ 

“ Then you will not mind changing it?’^ 

“ Hot in the least. 

“ That is well. We live in Philadelphia, my son and I, 
and have decided since the wreck, and in consideration of 
the fact that all our baggage was burned in the baggage- 
car, that we will return there at once. You will not ob- 
ject, then, to accompanying us?’^ 

“ I shall be only too glad.^ 

“ Then that is settled.-’' 

Mrs. Shannon arose with a smile. She had taken a 
great fancy to the girl whose future she had taken into 
her own hands, and it was with something like a gratifica- 
tion of pride that she looked upon her beauty. She was 
standing with CarrolPs hand still clasped in hers, when the 
door opened and a young man entered. 

He was handsome, after the blonde fashion of the Norse- 
man, and filled the idea perfectly in so far as his form and 
features were concerned. Women raved over Eussell 
Shannon, perhaps one reason being his proverbial indifier- 
ence to them all. It was that very fact which prevented 
any misgivings in the mind of his mother when she pro- 
posed taking the beautiful but unknown girl into her 
household as a member of her family. 

There was no danger to Russell, and the mother turned 
to him without a thought of fear in her proud old head. . 

“ The train leaves for New York at four, mother," he 


64 


MY LITTLE PRIMCESS. 


said to her, in a slow, musical voice. “ Shall you he 
ready 

“ Yes,” she answered, smiling at him fondly. “ We 
shall not go alone, however. The wreck has given us an 
addition to our lonely household, and I am sure’ you will 
feel as glad to have a young person in it as I shall. Let 
me introduce you. Mrs. Mills, my son, Mr. Shannon.” 

Russell Shannon bowed coldly; then, as his eyes rested 
on the beautiful face, the expression changed to one of in- 
tense interest, that might have aroused some alarm in his 
keen-sighted mother’s eyes had she been looking, but she 
was gazing at Carroll, and the unmoved countenance 
pleased her. 

Her only fear had -been for Carroll, not her son; but, 
with a sigh of relief, that thought was removed. 

How strangely the future convinced her of her own 
short-sightedness God alone foresaw then. 


CHAPTER Xll. 

“ Bad news flies swiftly,” and the old trite saying was 
never more fully verified than upon the occasion when 
New York awoke the following morning with the news of 
the great Hudson River disaster. 

It was cried upon the streets by diligent newsboys in 
connection with the printed story of the terrible storm; 
but none of the persons in whom we are most interested 
paid any heed. What had they to do with the Hudson 
River disaster? Their own grief was surely great enough 
without their weeping for others at that time. 

Mrs. Millbourne remained during the night with Miss 
Kingman, while Hilliard^ made two pilgrimages to the 
tenement to make sure that Carroll had not returned 
there, but each time his fears became even greater than 
before. There was nothing like sleep possible for any one 


MY LITTLE PEIls’’CESS. 65 

of them while CarroH’s fate remained a mystery, and it is 
doubtful if they even thought of it. 

They made some pretense of eating breakfast; then, as 
he aros§ from the table, Hilliard announced his intention 
of going at once to the police station to see if there had 
been any discoveries made there. Mrs. Millbourne re- 
turned to her own home, accompanied by Miss Kingman, as 
she knew that to that place Carroll would come, if at all, 
and her wild grief and intense nervousness made it im- 
possible for her to remain longer away. 

Hilliard could scarcely have described his own emotions 
as he entered that little office, fearful of the worst, yet 
hoping against hope for the best; but his heart seemed 
choking him as he stood before the sergeant^s desk, utter- 
ly incapable of putting his question. 

But the man, though he was not the same one who had 
been upon duty during the night, seemed to understand. 

“ Are you Mr. Hilliard?^' he asked. 

“ Yes.^^ 

“ You have seen the man whom we sent over to you?^^ 

“Ko."" ' 

The word was almost inaudible, so great was the anx- 
iety underlying it. 

The sergeant paused; he was so little given to sympathy 
in that life where the people he usually met were such 
hardened wretches; but this man was different, and he 
was suffering. 

“ You have — heard?'^ stammered Hilliard, unable to 
endure the silence. 

“ Yes. There is always a doubt of its being true, you 
know, and you must not abandon hope until there is none. 
Have you read your paper this morning?'^ 

“No.^^ 

“ There has been a terrible accident on the Hudson 
River Railroad. 

“ An accident?'^ 

3 


66 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS, 


“Yes/’ 

“ Well?” 

Hilliard’s face was ghastly. • He seemed to understand 
but too well what was meant, but he would not allow him- 
self to bel-ieve. He listened with a strained, breathless 
horror that was piteous. 

“ The cars were blown from a trestle-work and then 
took fire. There are a great number of killed and wound- 
ed; more killed than they know of at present, as all the 
bodies have not yet been extricated. ” 

“Yes,” very quietly. 

“ Will you look at this?” 

The sergeant reached under his desk and drew forth a 
morning paper. He pointed to that fatal column 
“ Killed,” and gradually ran his finger down the column 
until it rested upon the lines; 

“ Miss Carroll Millbourne; pinioned by a broken seat 
and almost cremated. Clothes entirely destroyed.” 

Hilliard saw nothing further. After all, what difference 
did anything else in the world make to him? Carroll was 
dead ! 

He leaned against the sergeant’s desk, white and trem- 
bling, not a murmur escaping his pallid lips. It seemed 
to him that the end of the world had come, and nothing 
mattered after that. Then he became aware, in that dazed 
way that each of us must have felt under some great crisis 
in our own lives, that the sergeant was speaking to him. 

“ You don’t know that it is true,” he was saying. 
“ The station where the accident happened is not far from 
here. Why don’t you take a friend with you and run up 
there? You see, they say she was almost cremated; might 
there not be some mistake?” 

Hilliard shook his head. His voice bore no similarity 
to his own as he replied; 

i “ It is not likely. How could they Have got the name?” 

The sergeant was silent. 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. Q7 

“ Good-day, sergeant, he said, heavily. “ I shall see 
you again as soon as it can be done. 

‘'You are going up there?’^ 

“ Yes.^' 

The man looked after him as he w^nt down the short 
flight of steps and into the street, then turned to an officer 
beside him. 

“ That fellow got it in the heart that time,^^ he said, 
with genuine feeling. “ T never saw a man feel auythiug 
more keenly. God help him! I lost a sweetheart myself 
once.^^ 

Almost without knowing what he did, Hilliard walked 
swiftly in the direction of the Grand Central Depot. Ar- 
rived there, he bought his ticket, then sent a messenger 
with a simple note to Mrs. Miilbourne, telling her that he 
had found some trace, but that was all. He took his place 
in the train with bowed head, knowing that he was going 
to bring homo the body of the girl whom he had S(f loved, 
knowing that he should find her there and that she was 
lost to him forever, yet betraying his emotion by never a 
word. 

The most careless observer could have told how he was 
Buffering^ his most intimate friend would noF have ap- 
proached him under the sorrow that he must have recog- 
nized. 

The conductor felt for him when he arrived at the sta- 
tion, knowing by intuition what he was going there for, 
for there were others upon the train with that same 
wretched mission before them. There were carriages to 
meet them, provided by the kindness and thoughtfulness 
of the Jeffers' family, and almost as if they were following 
the lifeless bodies themselves, the carriages wound slowly 
up the hill. 

Ballard Hilliard did not hesitate. ^Yith bared head he 
walked into the room where a number of improvised biers 


68 


MY LITTLE PKINCESS. 


were standing spectral with their white draperies in the 
shadowy light. 

He s2)oke the name of the one he had come to seek in 
the ear of the attendant, who led him across the room and 
very gently turned the sheet from an upturned face that 
was still covered by a handkerchief. 

How well he remembered the beautiful reddish gold of 
that sunny head! He turned from it for a moment, his 
heart seeming strangled by a groan. It was the first that 
had escaped him, and was quickly suppressed. He would 
have removed the handkerchief, but the attendant stopped 
him. 

“ Don’t do it, sir!” he exclaimed. “ It would only 
make it all the worse for you to bear. - She was so badly 
burned that even the doctors were horrified. Don’t re- 
member her like that, sir, if you ever loved her!” 

If he ever loved her! How like bitterest mockery the 
word^seemed to him! If only he could have exchanged 
places with her there, or have lain beside her, life would 
have seemed less hard; but he must bear it like a man. 
That was what she would have wished, and he knew it. 

He gave the order for her removal home, attended to 
every minute detail; then, knowing that all was done that 
could be done, he took the train home — the same train 
that carried the little form for which he was grieving — to 
tell the story to that mother whose heart he knew would 
break. 

If he could but have known that in' the next car to him 
the real Carroll Millbourne sat, alive and well, his life — 
the months of weary misery that followed — would have 
been very different; but Providence, if always wise, is not 
always kind, and neither knew of the other’s proximity. 

Hilliard was striving, even in the first hours of his blind- 
ing grief, to fix upon some reason for her leaving home; 
but he could find none. Since he had discovered that she 
would have nothing further to do with him, he had let 


MY LITTLE PRIITCESS. 


69 


her alone, though his heart had remained firm in its alle- 
giance. He had even written to her that, if it were her 
will, the secret should be preserved from Miss Kingman; 
yet, in spite of all, she had gone. 

Then the last words she had ever written him came back 
to his memory with singular force: 

“ 1 could not be happy, even in my grave, knowing that 
1 had robbed her. If you would make me a recompense 
for the sorrow you have caused me by your silence, go on 
with your marriage to her. I do not blame you, dear; 
but you must do that for my sake. It is the last request 
that I shall ever make of you.^^ 

And i( ,was. 

'What should he do now? All the nobility of the wom- 
an who was his promised wife came back to him. He re- 
called every act of hers of the night before, when his con- 
duct must have appeared most_strange to her. She, too, 
had loved Carroll; and, with bowed head and heart break- 
ing under its terrible burden, he saw that he must do what 
his love had asked. What mattered his life now? 

And his resolution was, that he would tell her part of 
the truth~not all, in justice to Carroll — and let her de- 
cide the rest. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Had it not been for the bitter memory of the past and 
the horrible knowledge of what the future held in store for 
her, Carroll would have been content in the new home into 
which it seemed that God had sent her. 

Mrs. Shannon and her son lived alone in all the luxury 
of wealth, with none of its ostentation, and from the be- 
ginning, while Carroll had her regular duties to perform 
— they were not menial— she was made one of them. 
Thei'e was never greater kindness or consideration shown 
a stranger than she received from both, and her lot, all 


70 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


things considered, seemed to have fallen into a peculiarly 
easy groove. She had told Mrs. Shannon little of her 
former life, adhering as strictly to the truth as her unfort- 
unate situation would allow, and her benefactress had 
asked no questions beyond what it was most desirable that 
she should know. Coralie Mills had been married, and 
her husband had died at a most piteously unfortunate 
time, and that alone was enough to insure sympathy and 
kindly treatment of the good woman, even if the girks 
beauty had not made its own undeniable impression. 

But there was a cloud upon the horizon — a cloud that 
was to obstruct all the sun in Carroll’s new life, though 
still she was piteously unconscious of it. 

She had bean in her new quarters scarcely two months 
when the storm broke cruelly, fiercely, cutting her per- 
haps with almost as keen sorrow as she had ever known, 
from her very innocence of wrong. One duty which she 
was expected to perform each day, and which had become 
a peculiar pleasure to her, was that in the afternoon she 
should read to Mrs. Shannon for'h couple of hours — some- 
times poetry, sometimes romance — a capacity in which 
Carroll was peculiarly gifted. One afternoon while the 
reading was in progress Bussell Shannon chanced to come 
into the room, and, fascinated by the sound of the musical 
voice, he sat down silently behind the reader and listened. 

From that day he was always present during those hours 
of the day. His mother generally fell asleep at the end of 
the time, a signal to Carroll that her duty was done, and 
that her time was her own. 

She had been reading upon the day in question from a 
popular romance in which the heroine quotes an extract 
from a little poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox: 

“ You have heard me quote from Plato 
A thousand times, no doubt ; 

Well, I have discovered he did not know 
What he Avas talking about.” 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. ' 7l 

She had just finished the line when the gentlest and 
most refined of snores told her that Mrs. Shannon slept. 
She closed the book, placed it upon the table, arose, and 
with a faint smile thrown to the son of her benefactress, 
she silently left the room. Her own chamber offered lit- 
tle attraction to divert her from her reflections, and she 
sought the little conservatory instead; for is there not 
something in the companionship of flowers that sweetens 
-solitude? She wandered among them for awhile, then sat 
down beside a great Japanese lily of singular beauty, see- 
ing nothing. Her arm rested upon the back of the seat, 
her head was turned in the direction of the window. She 
was evidently musing too deeply to hear the light footfall 
behind her, for her lips moved, and the Words she had 
read fell from them: 

“ ‘ You have heard me quote from Platb 
A thousand times, no doubt; 

Well, I have discovered he did not know 
What he was talking about/ ” 

Her voice died away slowly, and she was startled to hear 
some one say: ' ^ 

“ Don’t you think Mrs. Wilcox struck the key-note of a 
great truth when she wrote those lines? Do you believe 
that there can be anything like platonic friendship be- 
tween man and woman?” 

She glanced up, though she had already recognized the 
voice. It was Russell Shannon who stood there. There 
was an expression upon his face such as she had not seen 
there before; but it did not' alarm her. She answered 
very gently: 

“ Yes, 1 believe in friendship. Do not you?” 

He shook his head. 

“ Isot that kind. A man is too indifferent for a friend, 
or too passionate. Certainly there is a sort of careless 
well-wishing between the sexes, an occasional visit, per- 


72 


MY LITTLE PRINCES^ 


haps, some trifling attention, forgotten as soon as given; 
but not that kind of friendship~not the kind that sacri- 
fices, that endures through all ages. That is love. Do 
.you think a man always knows the moment that interest 
alters to love?’^ 

Carroll was looking at him without seeing him. Her 
memory had reverted to that sweet time when for those 
few months she had been so blissfully happy. Was there 
ever a time when she did recognize that great love? Ah, 
dear God! how her heart yearned over it! Was it to be 
wondered at then that her face assumed a dreamy tender- 
ness that deceived her listener? 

“ Does it ever?” she questioned in an under-tone filled 
with emotion. “ It seems to me that love is born upon 
the instant. It knows no past, recognizes no future, lives 
alone in the present. It is sufiicient unto itself. There 
is but one holier creation of God, and that is gratitude.” 

Russell Shannon was stirred to the very depths of his 
heart. How was he to understand that she was speaking 
to a memory and not to him? He knew that he loved 
that girl-wife, who was so recently widowed, and, man- 
like, her sorrow but endeared her to him. He had mis- 
understood her words. 

“ Love knows no past.” 

That was the expressed thought that was her undoing. 

He took the seat beside her and slipped his arm about 
her waist, his countenance filled with a manly, chivalrous 
devotion that was an honor to any woman. 

“ Coralie,” he whispered, “ I know that 1 have done 
little to deserve the love of any woman. I may be speak- 
ing to you with brutal suddenness, but if love is born like 
that, surely 1 may be forgiven. Darling, have you never 
suspected — ” 

But she had shrunk from him in fear and trembling. 

“ DonT!” she gasped, feebly, putting up her hands as 
if toward ofi a blow-— “ don’t, for the love of Heaven! 


MY LITTLE PEINCESS. 73 

You don’t know what you are saying! What do you know 
of me that you should — ” 

She paused, unable to continue, and he finished the 
sentence for her. 

“ That I should ask you to become my wife? I know 
that 1 love you. Is it not enough? Ah, don’t! Do you 
think 1 do not understand? You have suffered bitterly, 
cruelly, perhaps; but that only endears you to me. See, 
I ask no. questions. 1 am more than willing to trust you. 
You shall have your own time. Only tell me that some 
day you will be my wife, and 1 shall be content to wait.” 

For the first time during those awful months of suffer- 
ing Carroll was weeping. Her whole heart seemed melt- 
ing into tears. She did not repulse him as he drew her to 
his breast. It seemed such a comfort to rest upon the 
bosom of one whom she did not fear. She allowed him to 
soothe her, listened as he murmured words of hope and 
consolation; then she lifted her glistening eyes to his. 

“ 1 would give all this world,” she said, brokenly, “ if I 
were but worthy of your love. I would give my life if I 
might but answer you as 1 should like; but that can not 
be. I can never be your wife — never! There are reasons 
that reach higher than eternity that will stand between 
you and me for all ages!” 

“ Coralie!” 

“ If you would spare me a grief as great as any that I 
have ever known, never speak to me again upon this sub- 
ject. 1 have been so content here. Do not make it neces- 
sary that 1 should go out into the world alone, for 1 am 
afraid. I am so helpless, so cruelly alone, and oh, God I 
life has been so hard!” 

Still she had not drawn herself from his embrace. 
There was nothing in it beyond the expression of affection 
of an honest man; there was not a shadow of insult in the 
encirling arm. It was but a tender expression of love, 
that was all. 


74 


MY LITTLE PEINCESS. 


“If it distresses you, dear heart, you may be quite sure 
that the subject \till be buried in my own bosom,^^ he said, 
softly; “ but there will come a time when you will repent. 
The greatness of my love insures that, and when that 
time comes there is just one thing that I would have you 
remember, Coralie; it is ‘ that a love like mine can know 
no death. ^ When you have changed toward me — when 
my love has ceased to be a burden to you, you will come 
to me, you will tell me, you will trust me, will you not?^^ 

She arose and stood before him, her eyes still shining 
under her tears. 

“ 1 will trust you all my life as the kindest, most gener’ 
ous, the noblest man 1 have ever known she said, 
brokenly. 

He drew her to him, and her lips touched his forehead 
with the simplicity of a child; then he let her go. 

If that had but been all! But it was not. A pair of 
stern, cold eyes, glittering under a pride that was their 
owner’s single and besetting sin, had witnessed the latter 
portion of the scene, had seen the tears, had heard the 
avowal of love on part of the man, and had heard the an- 
swer— “ I will trust you all my life as the kindest, most 
generous, the noblest man I have ever known,” and her 
own construction was put upon it. 

t As Carroll left the conservatory, a heavy hand was 
placed upon her arm, and a hoarse voice that she scarcely 
recognized said in her ear: 

“ Come with me to the library; 1 wish to speak with 
you.” 

The poor child looked into Mrs. Shannon’s set face, and 
that intuition that does not often err in woman told her 
that another crisis in her life had come— the most cruel 
and undeserved, perhaps, of all! 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS, 


76 


CHAPTEE XIV. 

All throngh the miserable day that followed the dis- 
covery of the daughter’s supposed death and tlie burial of 
that unknown girl over whom such passionate tears were 
shed, Ballard Hilliard was more like a son to Millicent 
Millbourne than anything else. 

He was beside her constantly, speaking some word of 
consolation, or performing some little act of kindness 
that, without acknowledgment upon her part, was an in- 
finite source of comfort to her. She had not paused to 
question herself yet as to its cause. Her grief was too 
new and too bitter for that. She simply yielded to the 
sweetness of feeling that she was not quite alone in the 
world — that she was not entirely without friends, and 
indulged her sorrow. 

And Hilliard found the greatest comfort in ministering 
to her. All this Geraldine Kingman watched in silence. If 
her great, true heart ached under it, if there was a sus- 
picion aroused in her, if in the silence of her own chamber 
at night she grieved over a shattered dream, no one knew. 
She shut it up in her own bosom, conscious that her lamen- 
tations could effect nothing. 

She was as kind — perhaps kinder — to Hilliard than she 
had ever been before, and his heart smote him as he saw 
and thoroughly recognized the greatness of her generosit}^ 
How he cursed himself for the past only God and his own 
oonscience could have guessed; but it was beyond recall; 
and when his grief could be dominated by reason he saw 
that ho must bury it in the grave that they had dug for his 
dea^ love. 

With that thought uppermost in his mind he went to 
call upon Miss Kingman one evening. He bent and kissed 
her as she came into the room— a thing which he had for- 


76 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


gotten to do of late — but she did not repulse him. On the 
contrary, she smiled under it, and did not endeavor to dis- 
engage her hand from his as he drew her beside him upon 
the sofa. 

“lam glad to see you looking better, Ballard,^' she said 
to him, gently. “ You are growing more like yourself 
again. 

His face ’flushed. 

“ 1 don^t think I can ever belike my old self in one 
way, Jerry, he said, using the old pet name that he had 
used to her in childhood. “ 1 should have to lose this 
new-found appreciation and gratitude to be that, and that 
would take something that is most sweet out of my life. 
Do you know what 1 mean, Jerry? Ah, dear, how little I 
have known you! How little I have guessed the real worth 
of your character! How little 1 have deserved your affec- 
tion!"' 

She grew crimson under the pleasure his words gave her. 
There was nothing that she could answer. To disclaim 
the truth of his statement was like affectation, and there 
was nothing else to be said. 

“ I have a confession to make to you, Jerry,^^ he went 
on, after a pause — “ a confession that should have been 
made long ago, but you are too brave to understand how 
an unpleasant duty is put off from one day to another, in 
the hope that it will come easier at some future time. 
You could not do that. You would face the situation at 
once.^^ 

She put up her hand with a little gesture of deprecation. 

“Oh, hush!’^ she cried, huskily. “How little you 
know me, after all! . I am not brave, but the greatest cow- 
ard under heaven. If that had not been true, do you think 
I should not have relieved you of your embarrassment long 
ago?’" 

“ You know, then?"" 

She hesitated before replyiiig, then answered, very softly: 


MY LITTLE PRlE-CESS. 


77 


“ I have suspected/^ 

He covered his face with his disengaged hand. There 
were no tears in his eyes when he removed it, but she had 
felt a quivering sigh shake his entire form. 

“Do you think you can ever forgive me, Jerry he 
whispered. 

“ There is nothing to forgive, Ballard,’^ she answered, 
striving to steady her voice. “ You were not to blame. 
The heart is the one organ that will not be held in subjec- 
tion. I can not- quite understand the situation, but the 
only fault I have ever found was that you did not trust 
me. But that now is forgotten. 

“ Do you mean that there can no longer remain between 
us the promise that was given in the old days? Do you 
mean that you will not be my wife?^’ 

She was silent a moment, then turned to him very 
gravely. 

‘‘ Look at me, dear,^^ she said, quietly, “ and as you 
value your life’s happiness and mine, conceal nothing of 
the truth from me. What is your own desire upon the 
subject?” 

“ That we should stand by the old pledge, Jerry, if you 
think it will ever be possible for you to trust me again,” 
he answered, earnestly. 

A mist came before her eyes. A great cry ot thankful 
ness rose in her heart, but there was little display of emo- 
tion in her manner to him. Tender, gentle, but not de- 
monstrative, she pressed his hand slightly. 

“ Then your wish is mine, Ballard,” she replied. 

He took her in his arms and kissed her. 

“ I have not deserved this,” he said, his voice breaking 
painfully; “ but I swear to you, Jerry, that I will do every- 
thing that lies in my power to make you happy. 1 swear 
that if the devotion of my whole life can be reward suf- 
ficient for your generosity, it shall be yours fotever!” 

“ Don’t I” she cried, desperately. “ You make me feel 


78 


JIY LITTLE PEIKCESS. 


such a hypocrite. Do you think that it is alone because of 
you that 1 have decided as 1 have? If it really were con- 
sideration of you, 1 should have said ‘ no " out of kindness, 
because I am afraid that 1 believe you would be happier 
without a wife; but I have not the courage of my own con- 
victions. 1 love you! It sounds unwomanly and indeli- 
cate to say it under circumstances such as these, but it is 
my own selfishness that causes me to accept the sacrifice 
that you are making. Oh, Ballard! can’t you see? Can’t 
you understand? If there were another woman living 
whom you preferred to me, I should release you without 
a word; but as there is not, 1 will do all I can to make 
your life a comfort to you, dear, and some day it may not 
seem so hard as it does just at present.” 
i- There was more passion in her speech than any he had 
ever heard her make, and the depth of her love astonished 
him. 

“Is it possible, Jerry,” he quest! oned^. wonderingly, 
“ that you have loved me like that?” 

“ Did you ever doubt it?” 

“ I never suspected. The arrangement was made for 
us, and yon seemed always to me to have yielded — well, 
because it was the easiest thing to do. I did not think 
that my affection would have made the difference of a 
thought in your life.” 

“Ballard!” 

She had faced him passionately, all the glowing depths 
of her nature aroused and beaming through her burning 
eyes. 

“ Have I been so cold?” she asked, earnestly. “ Have 
I been so unresponsive as that? Then I have deserved 
what I have received. But, oh, dear, you have been mis- 
taken ! All my heart and soul have been yours. I have 
loved you with a devotion that was a boundary line for 
every other emotion. My whole self was submerged in the 
sea of my affection — and you did not know.” 


\ 

) JIY LITTLE PKINCESS. 79 

“ Forgive me. ^ 

“Oh, yes! Let us begin again. Let me teach you that 
1 am not the creature for which you have mistaken me, 
who could, give myself to the legalized crime of becoming 
the wife of a man whom 1 did not love. How little we 
have known each other, after all.-’^ 

“But you have not heard all that I have to say. I 
must tell you the story of that past which ought to have 
belonged to you. I must — ” 

“ No; 1 beg of you, don^t do it. 1 want to feel that 1 
have trusted you without explanation.’^ 

“ But there is danger, Jerry. Think of what the future 
might contain.” 

“ Nevertheless, I prefer that you should remain silent. 
Oh, grant me this! Let that episode be buried in the 
grave with her whom we both loved. I don’t want you to 
feel that you must never speak of her to me if the inclina- 
tion is upon you. I only wish that the history of that time 
should lie with you alone.” 

“ It is not wise, Jerry; it is not best.” 

“ Then let the error be mine, and gratify my whim.” ' 

“ Are you afraid?” 

“ No; but I had rather trust you.” 

“ 1 must yield; but I do it with reluctance. ‘ Perfect 
confidence casteth out fear,’ you know.” 

She kissed him upon the lips, and he smiled his grati- 
tude. 

“ You will be my wife at once, Jerry?” he asked, softly. 

She shook her head. 

“ No,” she answered; “ we must each have time to re- 
cover. To become your wife now would be most unwise. 
We must have time to forget. We are going to begin 
anew, you know. I shall not expect you to play the lover 
to me just at first. You must teach your heart to turn to 
me.” 

“ But-” 


80 


MY LITTLE PKINOESS. 


“ In this I am obstinate. You hold my promise in the 
face of the past, Ballard; but you must wait, dear. In 
the summer, when the flowers are in bloom again, then, if 
you will have it so, I will be your wife.^^ 

“ God bless you, Jerry!'" 


CHAPTER XV. 

For some moments after their entry into the library 
there was a painful silence between Mrs. Shannon and Car- 
roll, a silence which Carroll felt she dared not break, and 
which seemed to incense the proud woman all the more. 

None of the tenderness and gentleness that had before 
characterized her manner was noticeable then. She was 
cold and hard and stern as granite, for had she not re- 
ceived a cruel blow in her must vulnerable point? 

She took a seat upon the sofa, sitting bolt upright, with 
her hands crossed upon her lap, after motioning her de- 
pendent to a chair before her. 

“ Coralie," she said at last, her voice cold with that 
moisture that chills like ice, “ do you think that I have 
deserved this treatment?" 

The sweet eyes filled with tears. 

“lam afraid you have misunderstood a scene which you 
have just witnessed, dear Mrs. Shannon," faltered the girl. 
“ You have deserved nothing that was not most hon- 
orable from me, and 1 assure you—" 

There was a gesture- indicating a desire for silence. 

“ Don't add falsehood to your sin against me!" ex- 
claimed the elder woman, even more frigidly. “ It is un- 
necessary and hurtful. 1 saw enough to quite understand 
what has been taking place here during the hours that I 
have trusted both you and my son. 1 confess to as great 
a disappointment in him as in you, the fault being equal. 
But it seemed to me that you owed me, something more 
than this ingratitude!" 


MY LITTLE PKINCESS. 


81 


“ Mrs. Shannon, I beseech you to listen to me!’^ cried 
Carroll, in wild distress. “ Upon my honor there has 
nothing passed between me and your son that you would 
have censured either of us for if you had heard all. He has 
acted the part of an honorable man under the influence of 
a most unfortunate love, while I — 

“Have betrayed the trust of a benefactress,^’ inter- 
rupted Mrs. Shannon, her face crimsoning with anger. “ I 
have no wish to say anything that is hard to you, Coralie; 
but you have at least not behaved with the ingenuousness 
toward me that 1 had the right to expect. I took you in 
when you were homeless and friendless, when you were in 
a condition in which few women would have received you, 
and you have repaid me by endeavoring to entrap my son 
into an entanglement that is a disgrace both to him and 
to his mother. 

With a little inarticulate cry Carroll sprung to her feet. 
For a moment there was a flash of Are in her eyes, then 
she commanded her voice sufficiently to pant: 

“ Kind as you have been to me, Mrs. Shannon, much 
as I owe you, you have not the right to say such things as 
that to me, nor shall you. 1 have never tried to entrap 
your son into anything. 1 don’t think I should know 
how, even if I were to try. When your son asked me to 
be his wife, he conferred an honor upon me that I appreci- 
ated with all my heart, but he did it entirely without en- 
couragement from me.” 

Had Carroll been less wounded over the conversation she 
might have seen the white indignation of that set, proud 
face; but her heart was too sore to take note of- outward 
indications. 

“ My son asked you to be his wife?” questioned Mrs* 
S^iannon in a voice ha^’d as granite. 

“He did.” 

: A sneer passed over the rigid features. 

“ 1 think you are mistaken,” she said, heavily. 


82 


MY LITTLE rilINCESS. 


CarrolFs sensitive lip- quivered piteously. 

“ Don’t say that, Mrs. Shannon,^" she cried, brokenly. 
“ I know that 1 have been most unfortunate. It may be 
that I am far from worthy of the honor that your son con- 
ferred upon me, but he is a gentleman who respects his 
mother too much to offer anything less than that to a 
woman beneath her roof. ” 

That Mrs. Shannon felt the rebuke keenly, her expression 
but too plainly indicated; but it only served to increase her 
pride. But while pride dominated, fear was also in the 
foreground of her emotions. Was it possible that Russell 
really contemplated a marriage with this woman of whose 
antecedents he knew absolutely nothing? AVas it possible 
that he could think of her when he did not even know to 
a certainty that her marriage was a reality and not a 
sham? But if Russell had made up his mind to a step like 
that, should she be able to prevent the union that would 
mean absolute, undeniable ruin to him? For that Carroll 
would think of rejecting the offer that Russell Shannon 
would make her never even occurred to his adoring 
mother. 

After a momentary silence and quick consideration, the 
sneer faded from Mrs. Shannon's countenance. Some- 
thing of the kindness and gentleness to which she had ac- 
customed Carroll, returned, but it was overshadowed by a 
certain decision of speech, a firmness of manner, that was 
not calculated to deceive. 

“Perhaps you are right,^^ she said, quietly, “and 1 
have misjudged him; but even nnder those circumstances- 
you must realize that a marriage with you would be ut- 
terly impossible for a man in his position. I don't wish to 
be hard upon 3 ^ou, I don't wish to wound you, but perfect 
frankness is absolutely indispensable at a time like this." 

“ Will you allow me one moment?" asked Carroll, some 
of her own pride of birth betrayed in her tone. I would 
not have you for onewnstant believe me insensible to the 


MY LTTTL-E PRIKCESS. 


83 


great compliment that Mr. Shannon has paid me, but 1 
had not the remotest idea of accepting him, for I do not 
love him. 

Mrs. Shannon stared at her in astonishment. Was it 
, possible that the girl could be speaking the truth? At all 
events, policy dictated that she should accept it as such. 

An expression which she intended should indicate relief, 
passed over her features. 

“ 1 am glad of that!” she exclaimed, earnestly, “tin- 
der those circumstances, perhaps you will not object to act- 
ing in the matter under my dictation?^’ 

“ I have none whatever.” 

“ If Kussell has this foolish thing in his head, you must 
realize how much better it would be for you to be no 
longer under the same roof with him, at least until he has 
recovered from the fever, so to speak.” 

Carroll started. A deathly pallor crept over her face. 
For the first time she seemed to thoroughly comprehend 
what this meant to her. She was to be thrown upon the 
world again at a time when it was hardest. She was to lose 
the friend who had been so much to her through no fault of 
her own. Friendless, helpless, with that hideous illness 
hanging over her that had already wrecked her life even 
with its frightful shadow, she was to be turned into the 
streets, for what fate God alone coiild tell. She shivered 
slightly, but answered with the calmness of despair: 

“ Yes, 1 see.” 

“That is well,” returned Mrs. Shannon, with no en- 
deavor to conceal her satisfaction. “ Of course, to re- 
move you from the house would not be of the slightest use 
if he were allowed to know where you had gone, but that 
is what we must prevent. Will you tell me what your an- 
swer was to him when he made this proposal?” 

“ I was too much agitated to remember either his words 
or my own; but it was a rejection.” 

“ And his reply?” 


84 


MY LITTLE PRIITCESS. 


Carroll hung her head for a moment, but with no desire 
to withhold the truth. 

“ He was very kind to me,^^ she answered, tremulously. 

“ He said that he loved me too much to accept — 

Her voice broke, and Mrs. Shannon’s fingers closed spas- 
modically. Her son must be saved, let the cost be to an- 
other what it would. 

“1 understand,” she said, with more coldness than be- 
fore. “ 1 think that you perceive that you owe me some- 
thing of gratitude for my friendship) for you in the past — 
a friendship which you must see was purely disinterested; 
ydo you not, Coralio?” 

“ I do. Heaven knows!” 

“ And you would do something to repay it?” 

“ Anything that lay within my power.” 

And looking into the earnest face, Mrs. Shannon could 
not doubt the truth of her words. There was some genu- 
ine relief in her countenance. She leaned a trifle toward 
Carroll and took her hand. 

“ I know it will be hard upon you at a time like this 
to go into a strange place; but you see the necessity as well 
as 1 can point it out to you. Ycu must go away at once, 
without seeing Russell or allowing him to suspect that you 
are going. When you are gone you must be particularly 
careful that he does not discover you. Have 1 your 
promise that you will do this?” 

“You have.” 

There was the anguish of death in the young voice. 
But what was there left for her to do? She knew that she 
could no longer remain in the house where her attraction 
had been her greatest misfortune.. But what should she 
do under this new bitterness that was opening before her? 
Where should she go? And what should she do? 

Mrs. Shannon seemed to read something of theYiorrible 
fear of the future that was passing through her brain. 

“ You need not think that I shall quite abandon you,” '• 


MY LITTL-R PRIITCESS. 


85 


she said, more kindly. “ Let me see that 1 can trust you, 
and I will do all I can to assist you. I am more sorry 
than 1 can say that this has occurred; but since it has, the 
sooner the wrench is made, the better for us all.'^ 

“ I see,^^ said Carroll, huskily. Her eyes glazed under 
the suffering she was enduring. “ I shall go at once. 
There is nothing I can say that would express my regret 
for what has occurred; but I swear to you that your son 
is as safe from me as if eternity were between us. Good- 
bye, and God bless you for your kindness to me! The 
worst pain that I endure is in the thought that you believe 
in my ingratitude. Some day, perhaps, you will discover 
that I have not deserved it. May I kiss your hand?^ 

She raised tjie jeweled fingers to her lips, held them 
there a moment, then, with a tremendous effort at stran- 
gling the sobs that rose in her throat, she staggered from 
the room. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

Alone, friendless, even more hopeless than she had 
ever been, Carroll found herself once again in the streets, 
with not even the shadowy hope of trifling success that 
had before animated her. She was too proud to accept 
the assistance' "that Mrs. Shannon had offered her, but 
merely taking the money that was hers by right of earning, 
she left the house that she had grown to look upon almost 
as her home. 

It seemed to her that she herself had erred in some un- 
known way, that God should send such distress upon her. 
Then she remembered how other women had suffered, and 
strove to be brave. But it was a weary fight. Utter deso- 
lation seemed to weigh her down— a desolation from which 
there seemed absolutely no escape. 

And, worse than all, there was no promise in the future. 

It was worse than a blank, for here was the knowledge 


86 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


of that other hideously shadowed, little, uukuown life foi' 
which. she was responsible. A wild grief like mania came 
upon her as she left the house. Suddenly the world became 
a blank. She knew nothing, cared for nothing, save the 
fact that she was alone and wretched. Could she have 
done so then, she would have called Ballard Hilliard to 
her at whatever cost to another. 

“ Why should I care?^^ she exclaimed aloud, as she stag- 
gered along under the gathering darkness. “ Her sorrow 
could not be so great as mine. He would come to me. I 
know it— I know it! It would give my child a name — my 
child whom I have* no right to brand with the shame that 
is only mine! Great God direct me! I have borne so 
much that I can bear no more. Have mercy upon me!^^ 

The shades of evening were rapidly descending; a few 
cold stars twinkled here and there in the heavens, and a 
weakling moon filled the sky with a pale light that failed 
to reach the earth. The night was clear and cold, and 
numbers of pedestrians thronged the streets. She saw 
none of them. She was led simply by the misery that was 
upon her, uninfluenced by any intention whatever. 

Mrs. Shannon had given her some advice as to the best 
place of residence during the next few weeks; but if Car- 
roll had listened, she had already forgotten. 

She paused under one of the street lamps, leaning 
against it for the support that her trembling limbs refused 
to yield, and seemed to consider. 

“ Which shall it be?'’ she asked herself, in a quivering 
voice, as she looked at the twinkling stars for her answer. 
“ Which shall it be? 1 can bear rt no longer. My 
strength, mental and physical, is exhausted. To send for 
him, or — the river? Oh, my love, my love, why did not 
you see all this and save me? Why could you not under- 
stand — you who knew life and its suffering — what was in 
store for me, and save me from the curse of our folly? 
You did not think! I knpw! 1 know! You loved as 


MY LITTLE PEIKCESS. 


87 


blindly, as foolishly, as madly as I, and the future was 
veiled. You do not know the truth, or God himself could 
not have separated you from me. But you must know 
now! You must! I would bear it if I could, but 1 can 
not, and I have not the right to end it all in death 

She paused to consider it no longer. There was an ex- 
pression of wild determination in her eyes. The fire of 
fever was leaping in her veins. 

She turned to the first person upon whom her eyes 
rested, and in a voice that had grown reckless and defiant, 
she asked: 

; “ Can you tell me where the nearest telegraph office is?^' 

“Two blocks further on to the left,” answered the man 
whom she had addressed, looking curiously at the flushed, 
excited face. 

“ Thank you!” she exclaimed, hurriedly, and started 
away. 

But already a sensation that she could not comprehend 
was overcoming her. Her head had grown giddy. Her 
brain was reeling. She paused and pressed her hand 
heavily against her forehead. 

“ What is the matter with me?” she groaned. “ Am I 
going blind? Great God!” 

For a moment she stood there swaying to and fro. The 
man who had given her the information regarding the 
location of the telegraph office started toward her, but be. 
fore he could reach her side there was a heavy fall, and she 
lay there quite motionless, face downward, upon the street. 

An officer was crossing the street as the man raised her 
in his arms. 

“ This young lady is very sick, I am afraid, officer,” 
the man said, gazing kindly into the beautiful face. “ I 
think she will require an ambulance.” 

“ Do you know her?” 

“ Never saw her before.” 

The ambulance call was sounded, and half an hour later 


88 


MY LITTLE PKINCESS. 


Carroll lay upon one of the white-draped cots in a ward of 
the hospital. 

Three weeks afterward she opened her eyes one morning 
to realization. 

The room was darkened and still as death, but she felt 
a presence beside her. She put out her hand curiously, 
feeliug under the influence of a dream rather than a real- 
ity. It touched that of a man. She drew back with a 
slight cry. 

“ Who are you?^^ she whispered, faintly. “ And where 
am I?” 

Before replying, the young man rose and opened the 
shutters a trifle, letting in a ray of light. Then he re- 
turned to his seat beside her. 

“You are in a hospital,’^ he answered, gently. . “You 
have been very ill, but we hope that will all be over soon 
now. I am one of your physicians.'^ 

“ IIow long have 1 been ill?" 

“ About three weeks; but you must not ask any ques- 
tions at all, only lie very quietly, and be obedient. That 
is not always easy when one is overrun with curiosity, I 
am quite aware, but self-control is necessary, you know." 

He smiled down upon her as he might have done had she 
been a child, but there was little of an answering one in 
her eyes. 

“W'ait!" she cried. “There are some things that I 
must know. As a physician you will understand that the 
worry of it all would do more to retard my recovery than 
a trifling exertion could possibly do. Tell me something 
of myself, and I will try to be as quiet as you could desire. 
How came 1 here?" 

“You fell in the street, and an ambulance brought you 
here." 

A faint degree of memory seemed to come to her. She 
opened her lips to speak, but he motioned her to silence. 

“ If you do that I shall leave you at once!" exclaimed 


MY LITTLE PRIKCESS. 


89 


the young man. “ There is just one thing that we would 
like for you to tell us, for we have been unable to learn 
anything whatever from you. What is your name? And 
at what address can we communicate with your husband?’^ 

An expression of relief, and at the same time a flush of 
shame, crossed Carroirs face. The relief came from the 
knowledge tliat in her delirium she had betrayed nothing; 
but her voice was quiet as she replied: 

“lam Mrs. Mills. My husband is— dead.'' 

“Dead?" 

“Yes." 

“ Forgive me. You spoke of him many times, but only 
as Ballard. We could tell nothing frqm that, you know. 
There, now, I am going to leave you. Try to sleep, and 
to-morrow 1 shall have a pleasant surprise for you." 

He closed the shutter again and left her there in the 
darkness. At first it seemed to her that she could never 
sleep until her mind was at rest upon other points; but 
there was no one to ask, and her weakness overcame her at 
last. She slept — slept for many hours sweetly and quietly 
—awaking only in the morning when the nurse stood over 
her and the sunlight was streaming into the room. 

The woman smiled pleasantly. 

“ There!" she exclaimed, “ that has done you a world 
of good! Why, you are so greatly improved that you ap- 
pear almost well!" 

“ 1 feel almost well. Tell me — " 

“ Not a word. The doctor will be here presently, and 
you shall satisfy your curiosity all you like, but at present 
I am dumb. Ah! here he is now. Doctor Winter, your 
patient is greatly improved." 

“ That is good. How are you, Mrs. Mills? There is a 
visitor for you this morning." 

“ For me?" 

“ Yes. Would you like to see her?" 

The color surged into Carroll's face. 


90 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


“ Who is she?’' 

“ Some one whom you have never seen. Don’t excite 
yourself, little woman. Perhaps I should not have told 
you yet; but you know even doctors are not always as dis- 
creet as they should be. It seemed to me that it might be 
pleasant for you to have a companion, now that you are 
recovering.” 

His hand was smoothing her brow very gently; her eyes 
held his; her breath was coming quick and in little pants. 

“ You mean — ” 

She could not finish the sentence, and the doctor turned 
to the nurse, who had left the room a moment before, and 
was returning with a little bundle in her arms. 

I mean your little daughter, whose acquaintance you 
have not yet formed, Mrs. Mills,” he said, very gently. 

Carroll held out her arms in breathless silence. The 
little creature was put into them. 

Por some time she held the tiny face pressed "closely 
against her own, then her lips moved and they heard her 
murmur: 

“ Ballard’s baby and mine! God bless my little Prin- 
cess!” 


CEAPTER XVll. 

The art world of New York was in an uproar. 

Ballard Hilliard’s new painting had been given to the 
public, and where before it had loudly praised his talent, 
it went further now, calling it genius, and comparing him 
with the old masters, whose work had lived through ages. 
His everlasting fame was made, and he knew it. 

It is difficult to describe his sensations under the glory 
that had come after the months of toil. It had been a 
labor of love with him; his whole heart had been in his 
work, and yet, under the attendant prestige, after the suc- 
cess of v^ich he had dreamed and for which he had 


MY LITTLE PRIKCESS. 

labored, there was a sense of something missing — that 
something which would never come to him again in life. 

He blamed himself alone for the death of Carroll. He 
looked upon himself as much her murderer as if his hand 
had hurled the train that bore her into eternity, and his 
grief was something that never could be buried. - 

Not that he ever uttered a word of his sorrow to any liv- 
ing being; but it was there, poisoning all his life, forbid- 
ding even the prospect of happiness. He knew that he 
had acted the part of a coward in not telling the truth to 
both those pure women who loved him; but it was too late 
for regret to avail anything. The little that lay in his 
power was to make Geraldine Kingman as happy as he 
could, and Heaven knows it was little enough that he 
could do, with tl^at dead heart lying like a lump of lead 
in his bosom. 

The congratulations that he was receiving upon all sides 
made the memory of Carroll particularly alive in his heart 
again, for it was the portrait that he had painted of her 
that had brought his world-wide fame; and as he sat be- 
fore his easel, thinking of those sweet, dead days when she 
had been there beside him, when he had been unable to 
work because of the tumult of love that was raging in his 
breast, he rose suddenly, passing his hand before his eyes 
to free them from the tears that were blinding him. 

“I must forget you, my darling!’^ he whispered to 
himself, knowing at the time that he was asking an im- 
possibility of his heart. “ I must forget you. Ic is un- 
just to my promised wife that I should remember like this 
— that I should live in the thought of the past. And yet 
I canT — 1 can’t! It is the punishment of God for my sin 
that I can not!” 

He walked over to the window and stood there, gazing 
sadly, dreamily over the tops of the buildings toward the 
distant river, deaf to all sound, blind to the outward 
world, when some one touched his elbow. 


Q2 MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 

He started slightly and turned. The noble face of his 
betrothed wife was beside him. 

“ Dreaming, Ballard?’’ she asked, gently. “ Ah, dear, 
you are living too much in your success. You are too am- 
bilious. Do you not remember the advice that was given 
to Cromwell? You are forgetting everything but this 
thirsting for fame. It pleases me more than you can 
think to hear the world singing your praises; but, dear, 
there is something in life besides that.” 

He placed both his hands upon her shoulders and looked 
down sadly into her face. 

“ I know it, Jerry,” he answered, unconscious of the 
pathos of his voice; “ 1 know it. I saw success through a 
halo. What a mistake it was! It has turned to Dead Sea 
fruit upon my lips.” 

Miss Kingman’s face grew pale. 

“ You are so unhappy, then?” she asked, not reproach- 
fully, but miserably. 

He saw that he bad wounded her. 

“Don’t let us misunderstand each .other, Jerry!” he 
exclaimed, more lightly. “ Life is not such a horror as 
some of us would try to make it, if we only see the right 
side of it. I realize that 1 have been living too much in 
my work. I find that it does not contain all of living, by 
any means. I have been selfish with it, and I am just 
awakening to the fact. Jerry, did you think that my 
thirst for fame had made me forget what I owe you?” 

“ Not that, Ballard; but it seemed to me that you were 
forgetting yourself in it. You don’t realize it, but your 
health is failing. You have grown pale and thin; your 
eyes have lost their brilliancy. See, your hand trembles 
as it rests upon my shoulder. You need rest and change.” 

He looked at her a moment earnestly, then said: 

“ When you are ready to go with me, Jerry, I will take 
the rest you prescribe. Until then 1 must work.” 

She shrunk from him just a trifle. 


MY LITTLE PEIKCESS. 


93 


‘‘ Don^t ask me to do that, dear; at least, just yet. It 
seems to me that you would be better without me for 
awhile. 1 seem to remind you of the past. If you will 
not go, Ballard, tlien 1 shall for a little while. I have 
had an invitation to visit Philadelphia for a few weeks, 
and I think 1 shall go. If you find that you need me, 
come for me and I shall return at once.^' 

She was looking at him longingly, yearningly, uncon- 
scious that she was betraying herself in her words, uncon- 
scious that he could read the desire underlying her ex- 
pression, that he should come for her because he could not 
get along without her. But he understood, as a man al- 
ways does who does not love the woman as she loves him, 
and a sigh escaped him. 

“ To whom are you going?’^ he asked, quietly. 

“ To Mrs. Shannon. You remember, do you not? She 
was an old friend of my mother. You have met her.^^ 

“ Yes, 1 know, and I have met her son. Are you quite 
sure that you will not forget me, Jerry 

The question pleased her. 

“ You know that I shall not.'’^ 

“ I shall come for you, dear, unless you return by the 
end of the week. Life will be very dreary and dismal 
without you.’^ 

He said the words as if he meant them, and hope arose 
in her heart. 

“ Ballard, she said, gently, “I am afraid it is very 
dreary and dismal for you, anyway; but oh, believe me, it 
will be different by and by. One canT go on remember- 
ing forever. I never intended to speak to you of the past 
again^ but there is just one question that I should like to 
ask you, and then we will bury it forever. Have I your 
permission?’^ 

“ Ask anything you will.” 

“ Then why was it that you never married her, dear?” 


94 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


There was a painful silence for a moment^ then in a 
voice which she never forgot, he replied: 

“ She would not have me. 

Miss Kingman started. 

The answer seemed to put an entirely new phase upon 
the situation to her. Suddenly she remembered that Car- 
roll had told her she loved some one so intensely. Up to 
that moment she believed it to have been Ballard Hilliard, 
but how could that have been true if she had declined to 
be his wife? She thought she saw it all then. She 
thought she understood the misery that had ruined the 
young artistes life. It was that he had loved without re- 
ciprocation. It made everything seem so plain to her. 
Carroll had evidently eloped with the lover of whom she 
had spoken to her, with the sad ending of death. And, 
in consequence, she pitied Ballard Hilliard more than 
ever. 

She put up her hands and took his face between her 
palms. 

“Forgive me!’^ she whispered. “I have misjudged 
you, but it did not make me love you any the less. I un- 
derstand better now. TVe will never speak of it again, 
please. I am going to-morrow, Ballard. Will you take 
me to the train?’^ 

“ If you will promise me to remain but a week. Dear 
heart, you are very necessary to me now. 1 wonder if you 
understand how I appreciate your love? I wonder if you 
realize how grateful I am for the kindness you have shown 
me? Ah, Jerry, you are something more than a woman I 
You are an angel 

A few days later he went with her to the train, and 
kissed her good-bye upon the platform. 

“ Only one week, remember!'^ he said, as he left her to 
watch the train pull out. 

“ Dear Ballard!’^ she murmured almost happily, as she 
saw him reach the ground in safety. “ 1 don-’t think he 


UY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


95 


^uite realizes' it himself, but he is learning to love me. 
Thank God for that! Life is beginning in earnest at last, 
and 1 am really to know what happiness means. 

She settled herself back in her pailor-chair, concealing 
her eyes because they contained tears that were not those 
of misery. She had been very wretched of late, but she 
felt that the sun was very closely behind the cloud now, 
ready to burst forth with that grandeur with which it had 
never yet shone for her. 

She lived in a happy dream — and the future was veiled! 

Was it best? 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

“ Doctor Winter, I have come to say good-bye !'' 

Carroll stood at the door of the youug' doctor’s private 
room, pale, but beautiful as a dream after the severe ill- 
ness through which she had passed. Her hair had been 
cut short and curled about her head, giving her the ap- 
pearance of a nimbus-crowned saint. In her arms she 
held' the tiny reproduction of herself that was at once the 
joy and shame of her young life. 

Dr. Winter rose from the medical pamphlets he had 
been studying. 

“You are not really going, Mrs. Mills, are yen'?” he 
asked, with genuine regret in his fine eyes. 

“ Yes,” she answered, endeavoring to smile, but in 
reality giving her lovely countenance a sadder expression 
than before. “ I have been discharged from the hospital, 
you know.” 

“In one sense I am glad, for it shows that you are 
cured; but I shall miss you sadly, little woman. I hope 
it is into a happier life that you are going.” 

He had taken her hand and was looking down into her 
face with a sincere interest that was not love, and she read 


/ 


96 MY LITTLE PRIMCESS. 

it aright. She was more grateful for his friendship than 
words could have expressed. 

“ God knows she answered, simply. “ It has been 
hard enough so far, and yet, perhaps I should not com- 
plain, because He has blessed me with good friends.'*' 

“ I hope you count me among the number?" 

“ 1 should be more than ungrateful did I not. I have 
come to thank you for all your kindness to me. It has 
been greater than I had a right to expect from any phy- 
sician. If it were not presuming I should call it broth- 
erly." 

“ And I do feel So, little woman. I am deeply inter- 
ested in you, and I &liould appreciate it as the very great- 
est favor if you would allow me to see you sometimes. 
You know I am the godfather of the little Princess, and 
you have not the right to keep me from her." 

There was a smile in his eyes, and Carroll understood 
perfectly the kindness of his intention. 

Tears choked her utterance for a moment, but she found 
voice at last to reply: 

“ It would seem a little less like going into a life that is 
cruelly new if I knew that I should see you occasionally." 

“ Then you may be sure that you shall. Perhaps you 
are not aware of it, but I myself am situated somewhat as 
you are. I am alone in the world. Of course, I realize 
that it is nothing for a man compared with what it is for 
a woman; but it is not easy for either to know that there is 
absolutely no one who belongs to him or her — that there 
is no one upon whose sympathy one can depend. It will 
establish a bond between us that will create a friendship, 
if it has not already done so, Mrs. Mills. Have you de- 
cided yet what you shall do?" 

She shook her head. 

" There is so little that I can do," she answered, 
drearily. “ My little Princess will prevent my taking the 
place of even a servant, 1 am afraid. The nurses tell me 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 07 

that there is little hope of a woman with a child. It looks 
very like starvation, I am afraid. 

“ Oh, not so bad as that. You must not despair. You 
are too young for that. And you must always remember 
that God helps those who help themselves. Let me see; 
where is it that you are going?’^ 

“ I have secured a little room just at first in the home 
of a friend of one of the nurses. It is very small, very 
forlorn, but it is the best that I can do.’’ 

“ Suppose you allow me to call there this evening and 
let us talk over the future. Let us see if it looks quite so 
hopeless as you seem to think. There is always an ave- 
nue of escape to those who are willing to find it.” 

“lam afraid it will be a poor place to which to ask you 
to come.’’ 

“ I shall not mind that.” 

“It is so good of you. You must not resent my hesi- 
tation, or think me lacking in gratitude, but there is a 
singular fatality following me. It is that I lose any one 
who has been my friend in some horribly dramatic way 
that never fails to affect my life, as well as that of the one 
who has liked me. I am half afraid to accept your friend- 
ship, lest I bring upon you some hideous evil.’ 

Dr. Winter laughed. 

“ Why, what a superstitious little thing yon are, to be 
sure!” he exclaimed, with genuine amusement. “ And 
do you really believe that to be true?” 

“Ido.” 

There was such earnestness in the reply, such earnest- 
ness in the face that was raised to his, that he gently 
pressed the hand he held, the laughter dying out of his 
eyes. 

“ Well, we will prove that it is not true. We will ex- 
plode your bugbear. I am going to be 3^our friend, and 
nothing is going to happen to me out of the ordinary, 
either. Don’t think that I am tempting fate by any un- 

4 


98 


MY LITTLE PRTKCESS. 


due boldness; but 1 am quite sure that God never sent 
such a scourge as that into any woman’s life. The results 
that you have x)bserved have been merely those of acci- 
dent.” 

“ I hope that it is true.” 

“ You must not doubt it. It is like questioning the 
mercy of Heaven. 1 shall see you in your new home- to- 
night. How well the baby looks!” 

“Very.” 

“ She is singularly like you. I don’t think 1 ever saw 
a more striking resemblance. ” 

“ God help her!” 

“ Come, come^ child! You must not give way to 
gloomy reflections like that. You have ‘ had a great sor- 
row, to be sure, but other women have had them also. 
You are not alone in your chastisement. It is not the 
correct thing to sit down and grieve. You must be up 
and doing. I hope to And you in a better frame of mind 
when I call to-night Cheer up, little woman. Eemem- 
ber that you have the little Princess to live for now, and 
that you must be able to save her from the sorrows that 
your own life has contained.” 

A pain that was like white anguish came to Carroll’s 
face. The thought he had expressed had never come to 
her before, and it entered her soul like a red-hot iron. 
She pressed the little form closer to her, as if by her great 
love she would protect the little creature from all harm 
through life. 

Then Dr. Winter bent his noble head above the baby. 

“ Good-bye, little one,” he said, in that cooing fashion 
that one unconsciously uses to infancy. “ Keep mamma’s 
spirits up until this evening, when we will have a chance 
to look the future squarely in the face.” 

He pressed Carroll’s hand again, and smiling through, 
her tears, she gave him the required address and left him. 

She had already said her farewell to the others in the 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


99 


hospital whose acquaintance she had formed, and with the 
direction from the nurse as to the locality of her friend^s 
residence clasped in her hand, she left the house. 

The air was chill, but' it seemed to brace her courage 
for the unknown existence that was before her. For the 
third time she was apparently commencing life anew, yet 
because of the promise of Harry Winter slie felt less lone- 
ly, less utterly forlorn, than upon either of the other oc- 
casions; and then, too, there was that little life that had 
come to her, and which was all her own. 

She looked down into the tiny face with a wild adora- 
tion as that thought filled her heart. 

“ My little one, my darling she whispered, “ we will 
face it together, you and I. Some day you will know the 
story of your mother^s life. Will you forgive her then, 
or curse her? Will you say to me then, as my mother 
said, ‘ Death is better than shame?^ Oh, my little one, if 
I can ever make you understand how 1 loved him, how I 
love him still, you would forgive me! Had I the right to 
brand you like this, even for the sake of that woman who 
had been our only friend? But it is too late now. The 
harm is done. The disgrace is upon us both, reaching 
high as heaven, [scretching through eternity. I can but 
abide now by the decision that 1 have made. God forgive 
me, my little Princess!'^ 

She raised the child^s face to her lips, even there in the 
street as she was, and pressed a passionate kiss upon it. 

She was terribly white, her countenance traced with 
lines of sorrow; but there was a lady observing her who 
failed to notice that. 

She was coming down the street in the direction of the 
hospital, when something in the young mother’s move* 
ments attracted her. She looked again. The face was 
bent, the hair beneatli the closely fitting hat was short, yet 
there was something strangely familiar in the appearance. 
A cry arose to the woman’s lips, but froze there. She 


100 


MY LITTLE PKINCESS. 


watched until the white face was raised, standing there as 
if rooted to the spot; then, when Carroll had approached 
her, she put out her hand and grasped the girl^s arm. 

“ Carroll!’’ she gasped. 

The girl raised her eyes. There was a quick recoil, a 
low, panting cry, and but for the other’s quickness the 
baby would have fallen to the earth. 

“ You — Miss Kingman!” she whispered, in a voice 
whose hoarseness made it hordble. 

“ What are you doing here?” panted the elder woman. 
“ What is the meaning of this? IIow came it that we 
read of your death in the paper? And, for the love of 
Heaven, tell me, whose child is this?” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

For a moment there was stupid silence upon Carroll’s 
part. She -stood there apparently half conscious, gaz- 
ing into the face of the woman for whose sake she had 
made the most heroic sacrifice that ever came into any 
life. 

She tried to shake herself together, to think what it 
was required that she should say; but her brain seemed 
paralyzed under the shock. She might have known that 
this was one of those accidents that happen in every life, 
and so have been prepared, but the thought had never 
been even remotely presented to her. She tried to speak 
some words, but could think of nothing connectedly, then 
put out her arms and whispered, hoarsely; 

“ Give me the child and let me go!” 

“ Not until you have told me what all this means!” ex- 
claimed Miss Kingman, almost passionately. “ How came 
you by this child? Whose is she that she looks so like 
you? Answer me, Carroll! What is the meaning of it 
all, and where is your husband?” 

The girl shrunk back without replying, her eyes wild, 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


101 


like those of a hunted animal brought to bay. Her fin- 
gers were pressed upon her lips, as if holding back by force 
the fierce agony that threatened to escape them. 

And then Geraldine Kingman’s manner changed, and 
in a tone of persuasion, she exclaimed: 

“ Have 1 not always been your friend, Carroll? Can 
you not trust me now?^’ 

Then all the memory of that past came back to the un- 
happy girl with hideous oppression. 

“ You have been!^^ she cried, in a voice that Miss King- 
man did not know. “ God knows you have been, but 1 
need your friendship now more than ever before. Have 
pity upon me and let me go! Ask me no questions, for I 
tell you that already my life is harder than 1 can endure. 
If yop ever cared for me, let me be as dead to those whom 
I have loved and who have loved me as if indeed I occu- 
pied the grave that was dug for me. If you have any pity, 
let me goT^ 

During the speech Geraldine Kingman’s face had soft- 
ened and changed. She was again the great-hearted, 
charitable, noble woman that had brightened and cheered 
the lives of Carroll and both her parents. She had put 
aside self, and remembered only the sorrows of others. 

“ And if I refuse to do that, dear child,” she said, 
gently, “ you know that it is for your good alone. Car- 
roll, let me help you. Trust me with the story of your 
life. Do you think that I should desert you because of a 
misfortune? Perhaps— perha 2 )s 1 know more of the grief 
that has come into your life than—” 

“No, no, no! You don’t! You are wrong — utterly 
and entirely wrong. No one knows— no one, save God 
and my own heart. It is not wise or generous of you to 
suspect anything that you do not know. For the love of 
Heaven, go away and leave me!” 

The words were uttered so wildly, so pleadingly, that 
tears came to Miss Kingman’s eyes; nor were they of sym- 


m 


MY LITTLE PEINCESS. 


pathy alone. There was something else — some other feel- 
ing finding room in her breast, and it was one of great 
thankfulness that what she had at first feared was false. 
Some thought that Ballard Hilliard might be concerned in 
this terrible shame had come to her with sickening force, 
but she suddenly remembered what he had said to her of 
the reason why he did not marry Carroll, and the words of 
the latter had confirmed it. 

While, therefore, her heart was alive with sympathy for 
the girl whom she had loved in a happier past, there was 
also a thanksgiving that the man whom she loved was in- 
nocent of wrong. 

The woman of fashion held the pauper child close to her 
breast. 

“ I can’t do that, Carroll,” she said, gently. “ Is that 
living up to the command of God? Dear, I don’t want 
to hurt you, but your manner leaves but one thing for me 
to believe. Try to understand what 1 mean without my 
speaking the cruel words. But your misfortune does not 
warrant my leaving you. Oh, Carroll, dear child! how 
you must have suffered! How bitterly hard your life must 
have been when you could leave home and jfriends in the 
manner you have done, leaving them to mourn you as 
dead! Why did not you trust me, child? Why did not 
you come to me in your terrible trouble? Did you think 
that I should be the first to cast a stone? Did you think 
that I should have turned my back upon you because you 
had been so cruelly betrayed?” 

The kindness, the gentleness, the tenderness were wring- 
ing Carroll’s heart as no reproaches could ever have done. 
Violent sobs were rising in her throat. The anguish in 
her eyes was horrible.. 

“Don’t!” she cried. “1 have borne all that lean, 
and you are breaking my heart. If I have sinned, God 
knows that 1 have expiated by suffering, for there are no 
words to tell what 1 have endured; but if you have any 


MY LITTLE PRTETCESS. 


103 


pity, for the love of Heaven leave me as dead to the world 
as I now am! Dou^t make all the sacrifice of my life use- 
less! Promise me that you will tell no one — no one at all 
— that you have seen me! Oh, in pity, promise !’' 

“But your mother, Carroll? Have you no thought of 
her?^^ 

“ It is for her sake that 1 ask it. I am better dead than 
that my shame should become public. She could not bear 
it. She is proud — terribly proud. It would kill her to 
know that I — have become a — mother before I am a— 
wife!^^ 

The sentence was barely audible, and Miss Kingman 
shivered. 

“ Oh, Carroll! Carroll !^^ she moaned. 

“ Hush! For God^s sake, have pity upon me! Give 
me the child and let me go. Of all the anguish I have 
endured, this is the worst. Tell me, is she well? Has 
she become reconciled ?^^ 

“ No; nor never will.’' 

' “ You see her sometimes, do you not? You are kind 
to her as in the old days?” 

“ Often. I try to be almost a daughter to her. And, 
Carroll, she has one who is almost a son — who thinks of 
her first and cares for her. She has grown to love him, 
and to call upon him in her extremities. She may be 
proud — almost hard to some — but she never is so to him. 
He has been so kind, so generous, so thoughtful, dear. 
Have you no word for him? Is it your wish that he, too, 
should think you dead? Carroll — ” 

"What it cost the noble woman to speak those words no 
pen could tell. Her heart ached with a poignancy that 
went beyond expression, but the break in her speech was 
occasioned by the low, throbbing cry that issued from the 
white lips of her listener. 

“ For the love of God, spare me!” she gasped. “ You 


104 MY LITTLE TRIITCESS. 

can not desire to add torture to my suffering. Can’t you 
see that every word you utter is the most cruel stab? 
Can’t you see that it enters my heart like a knife? If you 
would do me the only kindness that lies in your power, say 
no more. Give me my helpless child and let me go out of 
your life forever. Speak of me to no one. Promise me 
that you will do that. Miss Kiugman> in the name of 
pity!” 

“ I promise.” 

“ God bless you!” 

Something of the horror faded from the beautiful eyes. 
The white lips trembled; great, scalding tears poured over 
the ghastly face. She stretched forth her arms and took 
the baby from her friend, hugging it closely to her own 
desolate breast. 

“ Good-bye,” she whispered, hoarsely, “ and forget me 
as quickly as you can. ” 

“ You mean that you will not let me see you, Carroll?’^ 

“ It would be better not. Don’t think me ungrateful. 
Forgive me and let it be farewell forever!” 

She looked into the face of her old-time friend once, 
longingly, hungrily, then staggered away without a back- 
ward glance, the old battle to be fought again, the old 
struggle renewed a thousand-fold. 

Miss Kingman looked after her. 

“ Poor child!” she muttered. “ How she suffers! She 
was innocent, helpless, and she loved. Is not the punish- 
ment too great? Ah! surely it is not right that I should 
yield to her supplication. It may be better that she should 
remain dead to the others, but at least 1 have not the 
moral right to abandon her, even at her wish. I will 
know where she goes. I will give her time to recover 
from the first shock of knowing that I have discovered her 
shame, and then I will go to her again. She vvill let me 
help her — I know she will. And at least I shall have the 
consolation of knowing that she is not unprovided for. 


MY LITTLE PROCESS. 


105 


How poor and miserable she looks! poor, helj^less, suffer- 
ing child 

Still continuing her reflections of sympathy, which were 
not unmixed with a feeling of gratitude that Ballard Hil- 
liard had had nothing to do with the grief that had come 
into the young life, she followed Carroll at a safe distance 
until she had entered the home the kind-hearted nurse had 
suggested, then very slowly she went home. 

During the remainder of the afternoon she could not re- 
cover from the shock that the encounter had given her. 
She wanted to see Carroll again; she wanted to make 
some change for the better in that afflicted life; and> un- 
able to bear it any longer, she turned after dinner to the 
son of her hostess, and said: 

Bussell, may I not ask a favor of you? 1 met an old 
acquaintance in the street to-day. She was very poor, 
very forlorn, and 1 can not get her out of my mind. I 
want to see her again, and I want you to take me to her 
door, and wait until I come out. Is it asking too much? 
Shall it be too great a bore?'^ 

“ Not at all,^^ he answered, rising at once to do her bid- 
ding. 

And together they went out to that humble street where 
Miss Kiugman knew that Carroll lived. 

She had carefully jotted down the number in her mem- 
ory, and as they approached the house— a small, ram- 
shackle frame dwelling — Miss Kingman involuntarily 
glanced in at one of the windows. Eussell Shannon fol- 
lowed the direction of her eye. 

There were no shades at the window, or, if there were, 
they were not. drawn; and inside the room they distinctly 
saw Carroll standing before a man whose back was to 
them. She was smiling into his face, with an expression 
that was easily mistakable. His head was bent over the 
baby that lay in his arms, as his mustached lips pressed 
a light kiss upon the tiny mouth. 


106 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


Miss Kingman was startled by a groan. 

She glanced hurriedly at the man at her side. He was 
white as death and rigid as iron. She grasped his arm 
with almost frantic haste. 

“ Come/^ she exclaimed. “ Let us go quickly! Merci- 
ful Heaven! it is worse than 1 had dreamed. It would 
have been much better if she had really died— much 
better 


CHAPTER XX. 

Grasping the arm of Russell Shannon spasmodically, 
Geraldine Kingman almost forced him from the contem- 
plation of that scene that had well-nigh robbed him of the 
power of thought. 

His mother had not been overtruthful in her account to 
him of Carroll’s manner of leaving her house, telling him 
— which was strictly true in one sense— that she did not 
know where Carroll was going, but leaving him to infer 
that she had done all that lay in her power to persuade the 
girl to remain beneath her roof. It was, therefore, a 
shock from which he could not quite recover when he saw 
the girl whom he had believed to be peculiarly friendless, 
alone in her room at night with a man who held her child? 
and into whose face she looked with such affection and con- 
fidence. 

He did not speak during their homeward walk, and it 
was not until they again stood in the center of his mother’s 
drawing-room that he turned to Geraldine. 

His face was white and rigid, the lines about his mouth 
drawn and distorted. She would scarcely have recognized 
the voice in which he spoke to her. 

“ Will you tell me where you knew that young woman?” 
he asked, as quietly as he could force himself to speak. 

“ I have known her for years in Kew York, where she 
lived.” 


MY LITTLE PRIKCESS. 


“ And — that man with her. Who was he?^' 

“ I don^t know. I never saw him before. 

“ Will you tell me what you can of her history 

“ I have known her, as I tell you, for years, and yet 
there is very little further that 1 can tell you. I have al- 
ways been interested in her, perhaps because of her singu- 
lar beauty, but I also knew her father, who was an artist^ 
and her mother, who, though poor, was one of the most 
perfect ladies I have ever seen. They were very, very 
much impoverished at the death of her father, but I always 
believed Carroll to be one of the purest girls.'' 

“ Carioll?" 

“ That is her name." 

“Go on, please." 

“ Her mother was indelicate health, and Carroll worked 
early and late like a slave to take care of her. Their de- 
votion to each other was something beautiful to witness. 
There was a gentleman in New York, rich, handsome, and 
■of good family, who loved Carroll, and would have mar* 
ried her, but she did not care for him. No one suspected 
that there was any one who had won her heart. I am 
sure that her mother did not, and 1, who was her nearest 
friend, did not. Then one day she disappeared. It was 
the night of the. terrible storm, when the Hudson Eiver 
disaster occurred. All night we searched for her, not 
knowing what had happened and dreading the worst. The 
next morning we read in the paper that she was among 
the killed in that frightful wreck. We buried a body that 
we believed to be hers, and mourned her as dead. To- 
day I met her upon the street — with a child in her 
arms!" 

The voice ceased. Russell Shannon had already dropped 
upon a chair and covered his ghastly face with his hands. 
Until that moment he had scarcely suspected himself how 
dear Carroll had become to him. Miss Kingman was 
looking down upon him in pity and amazement. She 


108 


MY LITTLE PEINCESS. 


stood silent for some moments, then she placed her hand 
gently, timidly upon his shoulder. 

“ What have I done in taking you there?’’ she ques- 
tioned, sadly. “I did not know that you had ever met 
before. ” 

His hands dropped. She never forgot the countenance 
that was lifted to her own. 

“How could you have known?” he said, hoarsely. 
“ Forgive me if I have added to your distress. There is 
just one question that 1 should like to ask: Are you sure 
that she was never married?” 

“ To my knowledge she never was; but recent events 
have proven how little I know. Will you not tell me, Bus- 
sell, what Carroll is to you?” 

“ Nothing but the lost love of my life. She might have 
been my wife had she so desired.” 

“ Great heavens!” 

“ Is it BO strange? Ah, she is young, scarcely more than 
a child, and she is pure! She knows nothing else, 'could 
be nothing else! There is some horrible secret that I shall 
make it my'business to discover. She is friendless, help- 
less, and in spile of her misfortune 1 love her still. I 
shall find out this thing that has ruined her beautiful 
young existence, and then the scoundrel that has betrayed 
her shall pay for it with his cowardly life!” 

He had risen, his face working with excitement. 

“ Hush!” exclaimed Miss Kingman, her eyes luminous 
with fear. “You must not talk like that! Remember, 
you have other interests in life. There is your mother!” 

“It is because I remember her that I am determined 
that justice shall be done! It is because 1 have some re- 
gard left for purity and innocence that I am determined 
that this scoundrel shall pay the penalty of his dastardly 
crime. Do you* think the fault was hers? I tell you that 
I know her, and that she is pure as an angel!” 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. lOO 

He picked up his hat as he ceased speaking, a hideous 
determination expressed in his eyes. 

Miss Kingman sprung forward and placed her hand 
upon his arm detainingly. 

“ Where are you going?’^ she gasped. 

“ Back there 

“Forwhat?’^ 

“ To find that villain!^’ 

“But you may be mistaken. 

“ I am not! I felt it as I looked at him. He shall 
make her an honest woman, and then — God help him if 
he attempts to injure her farther 

“ You don’t know what you are doing! You must not 
go there in this condition.” 

“ And yet I tell you that I will!” 

“But think, Russell! Give yourself time. If what 
you fear is true, yOu will have ample time — ” 

“ There is no time like the present.” 

“ But you must not go there! If you insist, then I shall 
accompany you.” 

“ That is foolish.” 

“ No more so than your act. Give it up. Wait until 
to-morrow; then call upon Carroll while she is alone, if 
you will.” 

“ She would refuse to see me, and even if she should not, 
she would still conceal the identity of that rascal from me. 
She is alone in the world, and friendless. Ah, Jerry, you 
don’t know what you are talking about! Place yourself 
in her position. Undoubtedly she loves him and will 
protect him at the risk of her own good name, or even life 
itself. Do you think 1 did not see when she was here be- 
neath our roof, as she was for several months, how she 
suffered? Do you think I did not know how tired she was 
of life? I think that is the first thing that ever turned my 
heart to her. I saw the struggle that she was making. 
Not that I suspected what it was. I thought that she had 


UY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


110 

lost her husband and that she was grieving for him, and 
ah, God! how I pitied her! But I see it all now. Poor, 
helpless, innocent child! And yet you tell me that I must 
see her betrayer escape me, and make no effort lo prevent 
it? Never !^^ 

‘ “ But what shall you do?’^ 

“ Go there! Meet him face to face! Wring the truth 
from them both, and then compel him to marry her! 
That is what I shall do!^' 

“ And if he refuses?’^ 

“ Then — ” 

Shannon did not complete the sentence, but there was 
an expression upon his face that made further words un- 
necessary. Miss Kingman shivered, but her terror did not 
prevent her from taking a sudden resolution. 

“ You shall not go there in your present state of mind, 
Bussell,^' she said, firmly. 

“ Who will prevent me?'^ 

“Iwilll” 

“You?^^ 

“ I!” 

“How?’' 

“ By entreating that you do not in the first place, and if 
you still refuse to listen to the voice of reason, then I will 
have you locked up until you have regained your senses.” 

“ You will have me locked up? I think not. What do 
you mean?” 

“ That 1 shall have you arrested! Listen to me, Rus- 
sell. A man that will do that horrible thing of which you 
accuse that guest of Carroll’s, is a desperate one. In your 
present state you have no reason whatever. You must 
wait until you are in a fit condition to go there — or I shall 
prevent it at any cost!” 


MT LITTLE TRINCESS, 


111 


CHAPTER XXL 

There was not a doubt in the mind of Russell Shannon 
but that. Geraldine Kingman meant every word to which 
she had given utterance. 

There was a set determination in her face that was not 
to be mistaken. He was firmly convinced that she would 
go to any length to carry her point in her fear for his 
safety, and because she believed herself in a great measure 
responsible for it in that she had taken him to that house. 

There was, therefore, nothing that he could do but sit 
down and bear as best he could that horrible feeling that 
was as indescribable as it was hideous. Russell Shannon 
was every inch a man, and therefore did not hesitate to 
acknowledge himself vanquished by a woman. 

He looked at her for a time in absolute silence, then 
with a groan threw himself into a chair. 

He knew that he must not, for Carroll’s sake as well as 
his own, get that odious matter in the columns of the 
newspapers, and any disturbance that Miss Kingman 
might make would have but that result. 

“You women are as hard as iron to each other,” he 
said, doggedly. “ You pretend to have loved this child, 
and yet when I would, right the wrong that has been done 
her, you put an obstacle in my way that I can not sur- 
mount. It is like the inconsistency of your sex.” 

“You have not the right to say that!” cried Miss King- 
man, passionately. “ There is no sacrifice that I would 
not make if I could but wipe the shame from Carroll Mill- 
bourne’s name — if 1 could but return her to her mother 
as pure as we both believed her at the time that she left 
her home; but in the state that you now are you would 
but make a bad matter worse. Go to her to-morrow, if 
you will, say to her what you desire, and act in the matter 


112 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


as you see fit, but I owe it to your mother that I prevent 
your going there to-night. You may think of me as hardly 
as you will, but when this feeling has worn away you will 
see that I am right and you are wrong.’' 

There was not the slightest indication of weakening in 
her manner, and Shannon knew that the case was hope- 
less. He saw that it was useless to try to do anything with 
her, either by persuasion or otherwise; and then by careful 
questioning he succeeded in obtaining the most minute his- 
tory of CarroU’s life, save the part that related to Ballard 
Hilliard. That, for both their sakes. Miss Kingman care- 
fully concealed. 

When she left him it was too late for him to be able to 
see either Carroll or the man who had been in her room, 
and thinking to gain strength for the following day, he 
retired to his room, endeavoring to sleep; but it was a user 
less undertaking. All night he lay staring up at the ceil- 
ing, making plans and rejecting them, until when the 
morning came he seemed further from a knowledge of 
what should be done in the premises than upon the pre- 
ceding night. 

He felt sore toward Miss Kingman that she had prevent- 
ed his returning to that house, as under those circum- 
stances he would undoubtedly have discovered the identity 
of the man who had occasioned that suffering in the life 
of the woman whom he had loved; for that the man he 
had seen was the one, he did not even remotely doubt. 
Still he would act cautiously, he told himself, and there 
would yet be ample opportunity. 

He avoided any conversation with Miss Kingman- after 
breakfast that morning, though she was obviously most 
anxious to speak with him; but taking his hat, he walked 
out of the house with bent head, walking in the direction 
of the little dwelling where he had received such a mental 
blow the night before. 

There was a wretched strip of ragged curtain shading 


MY LITTLE PEINCESS. 113 

the windows upon that occasion, but the alteration did not 
blind him to the fact that the house was the same. 

The expression of his face was most peculiar as he paused 
before seeking admission. There was dogged determina- 
tion in every line, but there was also a deathless pain, a “ 
sense of intense disappointment that the woman who had 
won from him his very soul was unworthy of the gift; 
for let the misfortune that surrounded her be great as it 
would, she had grossly deceived both him, and his mother, 
who had been her friend. Yet that did not alter his reso- 
lution to do for her all that lay in his power. 

He saw now quite clearly the necessity for carefulness 
on his part, and something almost like gratitude to Miss 
Kingman came to him for the action that she had taken 
upon the night before. 

He pulled a knob upon the door. The unmusical sound 
of a cracked bell was heard in the hall, and a little later 
the door was opened by a slatternly looking girl. 

“ There is a lady here with a child, he said to the girl, 

“ whom — 

She did not give him time to complete his sentence. 

“ You mean Mrs. Mills?’^ she asked. 

“ Yes. May 1 see her?’^ 

“ Yes, sir. Will you walk in?’^ 

Shannon hesitated but a moment. He had not been ex- 
actly accustomed to being invited into a lady’s room, as 
the manner of the girl plainly showed he was to be then, 
without the lady’s permission; but as he quickly reflected 
that Carroll must decline to see him should he send his 
card, he concluded to conform to the regulations of that 
class of society and do as was indicated that he should. 
He therefore followed the girl, who had already tapped 
upon the door of the rcom that he knew to be the one oc- 
cupied by Carroll. 

A faint voice from within bid the applicant for admis- 


114 


31Y LITTLE PRINCESS. 


sion enter, and Shannon waited until he heard the girl an- 
nounce: 

“ A gentleman to see you, ma’am 

Then without permission he stepped beside her into the 
room and closed the door behind him. 

The picture that greeted him caused the hot blood to 
rise to his brow, and yet it was one that artists have de- 
clared to be beautiful. It was that young mother care- 
fully, gently rocking the child who slept as she held it to 
her bosom. There was a low exclamation from the pallid 
lips of the unhappy girl, a moment of paralyzed inac- 
tivity, then without a word she rose, placed the sleeping 
child upon the bed, and turned to her guest. 

“Why have you submitted me to this humiliation?” 
she asked, in a quivering voice. “ Don’t you think that 
my suffering has been great enough already?” 

Every feeling but pity and love died from his breast. 
With that exquisite face before him he would have given 
up life itself for her and to save her honor. 

He took her hand tenderly, and looking down into her 
eyes said, with an intensity that touched her to the soul: 

“ Do you think you have the right to speak to me like 
that? Have I ever shown a desire toward you save to 
lighten and brighten your life? Do you think that I 
should have come here for any reason under God’s heavens 
except a yearning to benefit you, to see you happier? Oh, 
child, how little you have appreciated my affection!” 

Tears rose to her eyes. 

“Forgive me!” she cried, contritely. “1 think my 
great suffering has made me mad sometimes. You have 
never been anything but the kindest of friends to me, and 
I have deserved it so little. Yet why have 5 ^ou come?” 

“ To tell you that my love for you is unchanged; to beg 
of you — ” 

A flash of agony crossed her face. 

“Oh, hush, 1 beg of you!” she exclaimed, dully. 


MY LITTLE PRIKCESS. 115 

“ You are only making it a thousand times harder for me! 
You don^t understand! If you but knew the thing 1 am, 
you would despise me. Don^t force me to tell you the 
story that would burn my tongue to speak. Love can 
never be anything but a curse to me!^' 

“ It is you who do not understand/’ he exclaimed, lead- 
ing her to a rickety chair and leaning over her as his ten- 
der hand smoothed her hair. “ Dear, would it pain you 
to know that I have heard the story of your life?” 

She started up with a little panting gasp. 

“ What!” she whispered, her eyes darkening with 
shame. 

“ Oh, little one, why did not you trust me long ago? 
Why could you not have told me the story of your betrayed 
life? Did you think me so little of a man that I would not 
have helped you? Did you think me so small of soul that 
I should not have understood your temptation and pitied 
you? Did you not know that, loving you as 1 did, 1 should 
have forced the contemptible scoundrel who did you this 
great wrong to right it so far as lay in his power?” 

Her head had sunk forward upon her breast, and dry, 
tearless sobs were shaking her tender frame. Russell 
Shannon knelt beside her. She was speaking to him, but 
in a tone so low that he could scarcely catch the utter- 
ance. 

“ Who has told you this?” she asked, dully. 

“ One who loves you very dearly. She did not tell me 
except to benefit you. It was Miss Geraldine Kingman.” 

Carroll shivered. 

“ What did she tell you?” 

“ The whole story of your wrecked life.” 

“ Did she — name the person who — ” 

“ Ko, because she did not know. But you will tell me 
that, Carroll — you will tell me the truth, will you not, 
dear? I shall act only as your brother would do, had you 
one.” 


lie 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


“ And that is — 

“You are too good to be the wife of such a man, but it 
is the only way to save your good name and that of your 
child. I will compel him to marry you.’' 

She rose slowly, every particle of life seeming suddenly 
to have forsaken her. Her face was cold as death. She 
stood there before him, rigid as iron. 

“I see you Have not heard all the truth,” she said, 
slowly. “ It was I who refused to marry the man who 
loved me. 1 beg of you to keep this to yourself. I entreat 
that you tell it to no one, not even to Miss Kingman, who 
has been the kindest friend 1 ever knew; but it is quite 
true. Now leave me to my fate!” 

Russell Shannon rose from his knees. He looked help- 
lessly at her for a moment, then said: 

“ I see. You are trying to shield the scoundrel; but I 
will discover him, and — ” 

It was useless to complete the sentence. The expression 
of his countenance was sufficient. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

Carroll was too much stunned to observe the threaten- 
ing countenance, even had Russell Shannon not turned his 
face from her. 

It seemed to her that the past two days had been the 
very hardest ones to bear in all her sorely tried life. She 
was peculiarly alive to the terrible wrong that she had 
done her child, and that, coupled with the awful agony of 
shame that she had been forced to endure, was. almost 
more than she could bear. The wonder to her was that 
her reason remained; but it seemed only a part of her pun- 
ishment that it should be so. 

She had not even heard Shannon’s words, and seemed 
intensely surprised when a few minutes' afterward he 
touched her hand. 


117 


aXY IlTTLE tRIKCES.?. 

“ Good-bye, Carroll!*^ he said, sorrowfully. 

“ I thought you had gone,’^ she returned, wearily. 

The unintentional cruelty of the remark cut him to the 
quick, but he understood how she was suffering to cause 
her to forget that, and the pain in his eyes deepened. 

“lam going now,’^ he *said, gently. “It is your wish 
that I should go, is it not?’^ 

“Yes — oh, yes 

“ And yet you know that I am eternally your friend. 
You know that there is nothing that could ever change 
that, do you not?^^ 

“ You are better than T deserve — a thousand times. It 
would be best for you if you could forget me.^^ 

“ But 1 don^t wish to do that. You surely will not 
deny that you need my friendship; therefore you will let 
me come to see you sometimes, will you not?^^ 

“ Your mother would not wish it.’^ 

“ Then she would be a very cruel woman. 1 swear to 
you, dear, that if you will let me come sometimes, I 
will never speak to you of my love. I swear that I will 
remember only that you are my very dear sister. You 
would not desire to prevent that, would you, Carroll?’^ 
How lonely and helpless and friendless she felt under 
the touch of his kindness. A great sympathy for herself 
and her own wretched fate seemed to fill her heart. Again 
tears rose to her eyes. She was pitying herself as if she 
were some other whose misery appealed to her. 

“ You are so good to me!^^ she cried, clasping his hand 
closely. “ Why do you not despise and loathe me as all 
the world would do if it but knew? Ah, yesi Come to 
me! Help me to bear this frightful weariness — this sick- 
ening misery, and surely God will bless you. Only prom- 
ise me that you will never mention the past! That is the 
one thing that 1 can not endure 

“ But some time, when you are stronger, you will tell 
jne the whole story, will you not?"^ 


118 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


“ Perhaps; but not now. Some day, when 1 know that 
it is all ended — when I am sure that the wretchedness has 
done its deadly work, and that 1 am dyinpj, then I shall 
send for you and tell you, that you may tell the story to 
her, my little Princess, ^nd entreat her to forgive her most 
unhappy mother. You will do that?’^ 

She was looking apealingly in his face, and Shannon 
controlled his grinding teeth sufficiently to answer, softly: 
“ You may trust me.^’ 

But in his heart he was saying: 

“ Long before that time shall have come, 1 shall have a' 
avenged you, my poor, suSering darling. You think that 
you can hide the identity of that scoundrel from me, but 
my love for you and hatred for him will find him out.^^ 

She gratefully pressed the hand she held. 

“ And you will not tell Miss Kingman what 1 have 
said?'' she asked, almost in a whisper. ^ 

shall tell no one anything that you may say.^' 

“ Thank you a thousand times! Oh, Mr. Shannon, how 
good it would have been if only God had given me a pure 
life, that 1 might have been your wife!" 

His face flushed darkly. Great cords grew in his neck, 
and a flame of blood seemed to flash into his eyes. For a 
moment she was frightened at the fierceness of his expres- 
sion, aiid as if he feared himself, he turned suddenly and 
almost fiew through the door, pausing not to say a single 
word of farewell. 

She stared after him for a moment in astonished silence, 
then flung herself upon the floor before the rickety chair, 
and burying her face upon her arms, burst into a flood of 
tears such as she had not known in many days. 

Shannon, meanwhile, had rushed into the street. The 
cold air soothingly touched his hot brow, but did not calm 
the fever that raged within him. For the first time he 
suspected that if it had not been for that hideous shadow 
upon her life, Carroll would have been his wife, happy, in'- 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


119 


nocent, and beloved. It did not tend to lessen bis rage 
against the man whom he now considered to have robbed 
him as well as destroyed the peace and purity of the wom- 
an he adored. 

The interview had but tended To show him how impos- 
sible it was for him ever to forget his great love for the 
one woman in his life who had ever touched his heart, and 
his anger increased in proportion. His hand clinched sav- 
agely as he remembered that his rival had been in that 
little, meager room the night before, and a great rage 
filled his breast as he remembered that but for Miss King- 
man he should have known who he was, and so not have 
been balked of his revenge. 

“ But he will go there again he told himself, sav- 
agely. “ He will go there to see her, and I shall watch 
night and day that 1 may discover his identity. Then 
when 1 have done it, let him look out for himself! It will 
be his life or mine should he refuse to do her the justice 
that her innate purity demands.^’ 

Very few of his friends would have recognized Kussell 
Shannon in the haggard man who walked so rapidly 
through the poor quarter of the city. His eyes were blood- 
shot, his white lips compressed. He felt in no condition to 
go to his home, but roamed about the city, striving to fix 
upon some plan by which he could be sure of capturing 
his man. 

“ She will never acknowledge the truth,^^ he told him- 
self. “ She will deny to the bitter end that I am right 
when once he is nailed; but I must not give her the oppor- 
tunity. I could not have been mistaken in the expression 
of her face as that wretch stood before her. She has no 
friends here, and 3 "et he kissed her child — her child whose 
face even 1, who love her so, did not see. I should know 
his cursed back again if 1 should see it across the earth. 
There is no danger but that I shall recognize him, and 
then— 


120 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


Until thoroughly exhausted in mind and body he walked, 
half conscious that he had neither eaten nor slept since 
the night previous; then he went home. 

Miss Jilngman was at the window when he mounted the 
stoop and opened the door with his latch-key. She met 
him in the hall. His expression frightened her. 

“ Where have you been, Kussell?^' she asked, hastily. 

“ 1 hardly know,'^ he answered, dully. “ Everywhere.’’ 

“ You have seen Carroll?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Won’t you come in here and tell me what she said?” 

“ There is nothing to tell that we did not both know 
before. She would say nothing.” 

“ And have you seen — no one else?” 

“ No one,” he answered, briefly. 

“ I called there to-day.” 

“Did you?” 

“ She was out, or sent me word that she was. She did 
not say anything about moving, did she?” 

Shannon started. 

“No,” he answered. “Do you think she has done 
that?” 

“ I thought perhaps she might have, as she was evidently 
anxious to avoid us.” 

“ Good heavens! I never thought of that. What a fool 
1 have been! 1 shall never, forgive myself if 1 have lost 
sight of her through any carelessness of mine.” 

“ Don’t think of it now, dear. You aie tired and need 
rest. I can’t tell you how you have changed since last 
night.” 

He smiled faintly. 

“Not more than I have within the last few months. 1 
am going to my room now. Make some excuse to my 
mother, Jerry, and don’t let her miss me, will you?” 

“I will try.” 

She put out her hand and touched his sympathetically. 


MY LITTLE PRTKCESS. 121 

He went up hurriedly to his room, but her question as to 
whether he thought it possible for Carroll to have moved 
prevented the rest of which he stood so greatly in need. 

He threw himself upon the bed, but burning thoughts 
put an end to rest, and unable to endure it, he rose, 
changed his clothes, and once more went out into the 
street. It w'as about dusk, and people were coming home 
from their daily routine of business; but he saw nothing. 

He had determined that he must go to that house where 
he had seen Carroll, to ascertain if she were still there, and 
bent upon that, he thought of nothing else. 

He walked rapidly with bent head, but seemed instinct- 
ively to know when the street was reached. He turned 
into it and glanced up at the number. 

As he did so he saw a man who had evidently but just 
passed from the house pause to light his cigar. The back 
was to him, and with a gasp almost of horror Eussell Shan- 
non recognized the man of the night previous who had 
been the guest in CarrolTs room. 

For a moment he stood as if petrified, then he strode 
hastily forward, every drop of blood in his body seeming 
on fire. 

He caught the man by the shoulder and \vhirled him 
quickly around, then fell back with a low cry of rage and 
almost fear. 

“ Harry Winter!’^ he ejaculated. “ Good God, no! It 
can not be!^^ 


CHAPTER XXllI. 

The two men stood staring into each other’s faces 
speechless, Eussell Shannon in horrified consternation, 
Harry Winter in simple astonishment. The latter was 
the first to recover himself. 

“ What in Heaven’s name is the matter with you, 
man?” he demanded, with an expression somewhat be- 


122 


MY LITTLE PRIlsCESg. 


tween amusement and anger. “ Have you go'ne suddenly 
mad? Is that the latest fashion in greeting an acquaint- 
ance?’’ ■ 

The sound of the voice seemed to arouse Shannon from 
the apathy that had fallen upon him. A frown contracted 
his brow. 

This, then, was the man whom he had seen in the room 
of Carroll Millbourne the night before; this was the man 
whose lips he had seen touch the mouth of her infant 
child; this was the man into whose face she was smiling as 
she had never smiled into his own, and this was the man 
whom he had believed to be the perfection of virtue in 
manhood — the Christian in whom he had believed and 
whom he trusted. 

It never occurred to him that there could be any mis- 
take on the subject. It never does to a convinced man, 
no matter how little reason there may be in his conviction. 

And Harry Winter was his friend. 

But he had forgotten that fact. He saw in him only 
the wretch who had destroyed the innocence and happi- 
ness of the woman whom he loved. 

He bit his lip hard to control his fierce wrath, then in a 
voice of concentrated rage, he said: 

“ The street is scarcely the place for our conversation* 
1 have that to say to you which can not be said here, 
W^here shall we go?” 

Winter bowed. He understood perfectly that some 
dreadful thing had occurred, but there was yet an element 
of fear to be implanted in his nature. His pride was in 
arms, and it was a nature filled to the brim with pride. 

“ My club is just around the corner,” he said, slowly. 

Shannon flushed. That was another point of evidence 
against him, if another had been needed. 

“We can discuss the matter no better there than here,” 
he said, coldly. 


MY LITTLE PETl^-CESS. 133 

“ Then perhaps my room will answer your purpose. If 
not, name a place yourself and I will meet you there/’ 

“ Your room will do. It is nearer than mine.” 

'Winter bowed again. He turned without a word, and 
in silence the two walked in the direction of his room. 
When they had reached it Winter turned up the gas, 
then faced his one-time friend silently, but with inquiry 
written upon his face. 

Shannon had had time in which to recover himself and ' 
make some plan of attack. He had concluded that to 
make an immediate stand might be injurious to the cause 
of the woman whom he desired to champion, and there- 
fore the better plan might be to try to conciliate. 

“Harry,” he said, almost gently, “you and I have 
been friends for years. You were the husband of my sis- 
ter who is dead. AVe have loved each other in the past as 
few brothers have loved. You have professed that your 
life and heart have been given up to religion, and I have 
believed you. You are one of the few men whom I would 
have trusted with more than my life. It is very hard to 
be disappointed in you.” 

AVinter was more astonished than ever. Some fear was 
manifest for his friend’s sanity, but it was expressed sim- 
ply in his face and not by words. 

“ In what have I disappointed you?” he asked, quietly. 

“ In the greatest of all things.” 

“ I never professed to be a saint.” 

A flush of anger darkened Shannon’s countenance. 

“ No,” he replied, “ but you did profess to be a Chris- 
tian, and even had you not, your very manhood, to take 
nothing else into consideration, should have kept you from 
the diabolical act that you have committed.” 

Winter’s face paled. 

“ Of what is it that you accuse me?” he demanded, 
icily. 

“It is utterly useless to pretend an ignorance that is a 


124 : 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


disgrace to you. You have already done enough. For 
God's sake, be man enough to stand by it and face the 
future!" 

“ I honestly think that you have gone mad, Russell. Tell 
me in plain English what it is that you mean. I am 
neither afraid to face the knowledge nor the consequences 
of any act of mine. What have 1 done?" 

“You know but too well. I refer to that poor, unhap- 
py child whose rooms you left as 1 met you." 

“You mean Mrs. Mills?" 

Winter's countenance was a study. 

“Yes." 

“ And why should 1 not call there if I wish?" 

Shannon took a step forward, his hand clinched closely; 
then he reconsidered, and fell back almost fainting. 

“ Is it possible that you can ask me a question like that? 
Is it possible that you are so lost to all decency that you 
can face me in that bold, daring way, knowing that the 
whole, despicable, horrible truth is known to me?" 

“ What are you talking about?" 

“ The girl whom you call Mrs. Mills is the only woman 
whom I ever loved. " 

“ You surprise me; and yet I fail to see what that has 
to do with me." 

“Good God, man! have you neither heart nor con- 
science that you dare stand there and speak like that of 
the great wrong that you have done? Don’t you know 
that to-day she might have been my honored wife but for 
the terrible curse that you have put upon her life?'' 

“ I?" 

The astonishment in the tone was indescribable. 

“You!" 

There was a long silence between them, then very quiet- 
ly Winter asked : 

“ Who has told you this most remarkable story?" 


MY LITTLE PRIE-CESS. 125 

“ Ifc is utterly useless for you to deny it. I know it 
from a source that can not be controverted,^^ 

“ 1 have not the remotest intention of denying any- 
thing/^ answered Winter, haughtily. You have come 
here accusing me of a crime, and attacking the reputation 
of an innocent woman. If I did not believe you to be 
stark, staring mad, I think I should horsewhip you.” 

Even then Shannon could not see that those were the 
words of a guiltless man. He saw in them only the cover 
that a scoundrel uses to hide his dastardly shame. He 
flushed dully, but again reflected that he might best serve 
Carroll by calmness. 

“It is utterly useless to assume that tone with me,” he 
said, not quite able to conceal the scorn and indignation 
he felt. “ You see I know of what 1 am speaking.” 

“Do you mean to tell me that Mrs. Mills told you 
this?” 

“ Oh, no! She loves the man who has destroyed her 
jieace tod well for that. She would have concealed your 
crime if the power had not been denied her. She would 
have shielded you even at any cost to her nameless child, 
but it was impossible. In the name of Heaven, man, why 
have you done it? Surely she was young and beautiful 
enough to have satisfied any one. Why could not you 
have married her, in the first place? But you will not re- 
fuse to do it now, Harry. Of that I am sure!” 

“ Marry Mrs. Mills? I?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Most certainly not!” 

“ And why?” • 

“ For the very simplest reason in the world. I don^t 
love her!” 

“ But, Harry, think how you have wronged her. Think 
what her life must be if you fail to make of her an honest 
woman. Think—” 

“ Look here, Russell, I am tired of all this. If you 


126 


:my little prikcess. 


have not gone crazy, I don’t know what is the matter with 
you. Once for all, stop it! You attack me in the street 
in a manner that would warrant any man knocking you 
down; then you come to my room and insult me with the 
most outrageous bit of slander that was ever invented 
against any man. My patience is exhausted. Because 
you are my brother-in-law I have tried to bear with your 
wild words, but I am tired of them. Now either leave my 
room or behave yourself like a gentleman.” 

Shannon’s breath came hard and fast. 

“ You dare say that to me!” he cried, hoarsely — “you 
dare! I oame to you to try to make you see your duty; 
I came to try to undo the great wrong that you have done 
in the only way that an honorable man can right a wrong 
like that, and an insult is the reward I receive. I see now 
that I must treat you as a gentleman must always treat a 
scoundrel. You shall marry the woman whom you have 
wronged — you shall give her child a name, or by Heaven 
you shall answer to me for it!” 

“ In what way?” 

“ With your dastardly life!” 

AVinter laughed. 

“ Duels are out of fashion in these days,” he said, cold- 
ly, “and even if they were not, 1 should still refuse to 
fight you. There is no reason why I should. 1 tell you 
that my patience is exhausted. Now, leave my room, or 
I will have you lockedjn a madhouse.” 

“ Scoundrel!” 

The word came through the white lips simultaneously 
with a spring, and Shannon's long, strong fingers closed 
around Winter’s throat. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

There were roses upon the table in the sitting-room 
that Mis. Millbourne occupied, roses upon the table and 


MY LITTLE PRIiq’CESS. 


12 ? 


white hyacinths in a pretty jar close by whose fragrance 
filled the atmosphere delightfully. The room was fur- 
nished in nowise different from what it had been upon that 
afternoon that Carroll had bidden it an eternal farewell, 
but there was something about it that gave it a degree of 
comfort, a home-like appearance that it had not possessed 
at that time. 

Perhaps it was the flowers, but there were other things 
also that Ballard Hilliard had provided — ferns in the win- 
dows, a basket of fruit in the corner, and little touches of 
brightness in that line that only wealth can purchase, 
particularly at that season of the year. 

MilJicent Millbourne sat before a not overbrilliant fire, 
toasting her toes and enjoying a delicious pear from the 
plentiful supply. There was neither happiness nor con- 
tent in her expression, neither resignation nor hope, but a 
certain hopelessness that was infinitely appealing. 

She turned her head slightly as a knock sounded upon 
the door, but rose, and extended her hand with a faint 
smile as she saw who her visitor was. 

“ Mr. Hilliard, she exclaimed, with genuine pleasure, 
“ this is kind. T have no friend who remembers me as 
you do. The basket of fruit came half an hour ago. 
WonT you help me to enjoy it?’’ 

“ Thank you,” he replied, selecting a few grapes. “ 1 
was afraid 1 should find you out this evening, and as I had 
some particular business upon which I wished to see you, 
and more especially as 1 am going away to-morrow, I 
should have had to await your return.” 

“ You are going away to-morrow?” 

“ To bring Miss Kingman home.” 

“Oh! 1 had forgotten her week is up. When is your 
marriage to be, Mr. Hilliard?” 

His face flushed. He had never become quite accus- 
tomed to hearing the mother of Carroll speak to him so 
calmly of his marriage to another woman. 


128 


MY LITTLE PEIITCESS. 


“ 1 don^t know,” he answered, wearily. “ Miss King- 
man seems in no hurry, and 1 don^t feel inclined to push 
her beyond her desire.” 

“ And yet she loves you. Of that 1 am sure*” 

“ Yes,” stammered the young man. 

“ I shall be glad to see you married, because I think 
you will both be happier. You are devoting too much 
time to your work. You wonH mind my speaking to you 
in this way, will you? — because 1 am old enough to be your 
mother, you know. And then you have given me your 
friendship of your own accord. It is very dear to me, Mr. 
Hilliard.” 

He took her hand and pressed it tenderly. A close ob- 
server might have seen that there were tears in his eyes. 

“ I like to have you speak to me as if you were my 
mother,” he said, very softly. “ My own mother died 
years ago, you know, and I feel very forlorn and lonely 
sometimes v/ith no one to advise or counsel me. I wish 
you would speak to me sometimes as if I were really your 
son. I wish you would try to feel toward me as if 1 
were.” 

Mrs. Millbourne was still smiling, but so tremulously 
that even Ballard knew that it was through a mist of tears. 

“ I think 1 do feel like that,” she replied, her voice 
breaking over the simple words. “It was very good of 
God to send me a son when he took my daughter. I can 
scarcely understand yet the sympathy that has been estab- 
lished between us, Mr. Hilliard.” 

He had sat down. Wearily, miserably he rested his 
elbow upon his knee and concealed his face in his hand, 

“ Those are things which one never understands,” he 
answered. 

She looked at him curiously. 

“ But in our case it was most singular. I am old, you 
are young; I am poor, you are one of the favored of the 
gods; 1 am miserable, and you are happy — ” 


3[Y LITTLE PRINCESS. 


120 


“Happyr^ 

He had articulated the word before he was aware of it, 
and in a way that would have told his pitiful story to the 
most careless. 

She put out her hand as he would have risen, and placed 
it upon his shoulder. 

“Mr. Hilliard — Ballard!'^ she exclaimed, earnestly, 
“ you said but now that you wished me to speak to you as 
if you really were my son. Forget for the time, if you 
can, that you are not, and tell me what it is that is troub- 
ling you. 1 have seen for some time that you are not 
happy, but have been forced to hold my tongue and say 
nothing; but it is growing upon you instead of lessening. 
You have everything to make life blessed — wealth, fame, 
honor, the girl you love — 

She felt a shiver pass over him, and paused. 

“Ballard,^^ she whispered, when she could bear the 
silence no longer, “ what is it that you would have me 
understand? It can^t be possible that you do — not love — 
your—’" 

He rose suddenly, shaking off her hand as if its touch 
hurt him. He leaned over and kissed her cheek swiftly. 

“ There are some things of which even, the dearest 
mother must not speak to her son,” he said, hurriedly. 
“ This is one of them.. Forget that we have spoken upon 
the subject at all, dear Mrs. Millbourne. My betrothed 
wife is a thousand times — ten thousand times too good for 
me! If I but deserved the love that she has given me I 
might be a happier man; but I do not, and, God help me! 
I never shall.” 

“ My poor boy!” 

She had risen and was standing with one of her hands 
clasped in his, the other upon his shoulder. 

“ Hush!” he cried, a spasm of pain contracting his 
features. “ 1 tell you 1 can’t bear it! Y"ou don’t under- 

5 


130 


MY LITTLE rillNCESS. 


stand — you never will — but my conscience is driving me 
mad!’' 

“You do not love her, and yet you would marry her 
because she loves you. Is not that it, Ballard?" 

He groaned. 

“ Don't!" he cried, pleadingly. “ I tell you I can't 
bear it! Come, let me tell you," lifting his hair from his 
forehead, where great beads of perspiration stood. “ I 
came upon business, I told you. Do you remember that 
1 spoke to you of a friend of mine who is a publisher? He 
wants an article of Daudet's translated. Do you think 
you can do it?" 

She tried to pull herself back to the business groove 
again, but her heart was very heavy. It required a mo- 
ment of reflection before she could quite comprehend what 
he had said; then she answered, wearily: 

“ Oh, yes! I don't know. 1 have never done anything 
of that kind; but I can try. Does it require much skill?" 

“Not any more than you possess. There is a great field 
open for you if you succeed with this. There will be no 
more drudgery, no more sewing until your eyes are out 
and your health is broken. You will be quite your own 
mistress, and in a line of life that will suit you intellectu- 
ally as well as physically. It will not give you so much 
time to think of your own sorrows, because you will bo 
immersed in those of others. I have recommended you 
very highly to my friends, and I hope you will try very 
hard for my sake. I am greatly interested." 

“ How good you are!" 

“ For the love of Heaven don’t say that of me! It 
makes me feel like the greatest scoundrel under the sun." 

“You are too sensitive. What friend have 1 ever had 
who was to me what you are? Are you not my son?" 

His brow contracted. For a moment his teeth were 
buried deeply in his lip; then he hurriedly held out his 
hand. 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


131 


“ Good-bye!’^ he exclaimed, hoarsely. 

“ Good-bye. Shall 1 get this manuscript when you re- 
turn?^^ 

“My friend will send it up to-morrow. I wish you 
would promise that at my next call you will read me the 
first chapter. 

“ You may be sure that I shall lose no time. God bless 
you, my dear boy, and send you the happiness that you 
deserve 

He did not give her an opportunity of saying more, but, 
lifting her hand to his lips, he pressed it there for a mo- 
ment, then dropped it and went hurriedly from the room. 

Poor Hilliard! It seemed to him that she was all that 
he had left in life, and his sorely tried heart clung to her 
as if she had indeed been his mother; yet his conscience 
was terribly aroused as he remembered that but for him 
her beloved daughter might have been beside her. He felt 
like a hypocrite, a scoundrel, and yet he knew that with- 
out him life would have been hideously hard for her to 
bear. She seemed to lean upon and cling to him, and he 
had been able to provide her with a number of little com- 
forts that had made existence easier. 

And how she appreciated his friendship! 

“Hear boy!’^ she murmured as he left her. “ What 
an awful contemplation it is that life is so at sixes and 
sevens with us all! *1 believed he loved Miss Kingman, 
yet 1 have seen for some time that he was not happy. He 
is too honorable to fail to keep his part of the compact. 
They have been engaged for years. Poor boy ! how 1 wish 
I could help him in his sorrow as he has in mine! How I 
wish that I could be the comfort to him that he has been 
to me! There is no nobler man on all God's earth than 
Ballard Hilliard!" 

His sorrow touched her heart as nothing had had power 
to do since that morning when he had brought home the 
supposed body of her dear child and, thinking of that, she 


132 


MY LITTLE PRIN-CESS. 


sat down at a little desk that the room contained — a little 
thing of no value that had been Carroirs — and leaned her 
head upon her hand. Her other hand was pulling care- 
lessly at a tiny piece of wood that projected from the un- 
der part of one of the drawers. 

She was not conscious of her movements, but was think- 
ing deeply, when suddenly, to her astonishment, a little 
aperture or drawer, of whose existence she was unaware, 
opened. It rather startled her, arousing her as it did so 
suddenly from her meditations. 

She looked at it closely, then drew it out. 

Behind it she saw a letter that had evidently slipped 
over the back. She drew it out and held it in her hand 
for many minutes before opening it. The envelope was 
addressed to Ballard Hilliard in the handwriting of her 
daughter. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

The atmosphere seemed to have grown dense and 
murky about Millicent Mill bourne. She breathed with 
difficulty. She seemed to understand that another crisis 
in her singularly unhappy life had been reached. 

She could not have defined her sensations nor put her 
fears into words, but it appeared to her that some mes- 
sage had been sent to her from the dead. A deathly 
pallor settled upon her features. Her head reeled, and 
with a sob she allowed her face to fall upon her arm that 
rested upon the little desk. 

What was it that she feared? 

She could not have told if her very soul depended upon 
it, yet there it was before her, this intangible something, 
spectral but defiant. 

She raised her head and turned the letter over in her 
hand. The seal was unbroken. 

Did Carroll think she had mailed the letter and leave it 
there through forgetfulness? She could not answer her 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 133 

own query. She was aware that Carroll had known Bal- 
lard Hilliard, but not sufficiently well to write to him. 

And then, did not the letter belong to him? And had 
she the right to read it? 

At first it seemed to her that in honor she must send it 
to him unread, and there was something like relief in the 
thought. Then she remembered that perhaps Carroll had 
reconsidered and did not wish it sent. 

What should she do? 

Decidedly the coarse of honor was to throw the letter 
into the fire unread. She approached the little smolder- 
ing embers, and more than once made the effort to place 
the letter upon the fast-dying coals, but each time her 
hand was withdrawn. 

Why should she not read what her daughter had writ- 
ten? she asked herself, j^roudly, as if resenting the insult 
that her own thought had offered. Did she suspect her 
own pure child of writing words to any man that she 
might not see? 

A flush suffused her face at the thought. She com- 
pressed her lips firmly, and with steady fingers tore the 
end from the envelope. With great deliberation she un- 
folded the letter. 

Again there was a moment of hesitation. She turned 
the lamp a trifle higher. Her eyes sought the sheet of 
paper once more. 

“ For the last time, my own Ballard 

That was what she read, and then the letter fell. 

She never knew how long she stood there staring into 
the dying embers. She never remembered afterward what 
her sensations. were, but she was recalled to herself by a 
terrible numbness in her limbs. With a weariness that 
was like death, she sunk into a chair, then shuddered as 
she saw the letter lying at her feet. It seemed like a ser- 
pent that was stinging her with its very presence. 


134 


MY LITTLE PRIi^CESS. 


Then suddenly some thought seemed to return to her 
paralyzed brain. 

“ 1 am a fool’/^ she cried out, harshly. “ Of what is it 
that I am accusing my dear dead one? I should strangle 
the person that dared suggest that all was not well with 
her, and yet here in my own mind 1 am insulting her 
memory. There is some secret she was too unhappy to 
tell even me, but 1 will find out now, and then I will un- 
derstand that poor boy’s misery perhaps.” 

She picked up the letter once more, and eagerly began 
its perusal. 

“ I know that 1 am doing wrong to write you, belong- 
ing as you do to another, but surely God will forgive me 
in that it is an eternal farewell that I shall say — an eter- 
nal farewell to you and the happiness that we both knew 
in the dear, dead past when we belonged to each other 
alone, or I thought we did. 1 am going away, dear — away 
on that long journey that we must all take sooner or 
later, and it seemed to me that it would be made easier 
by knowing that 1 had said a last word to you. 1 should 
go to see you, but I dare not trust myself. Oh, dearest 
heart, it is bitterly hard! Don’t think that 1 blame you. 
1 should perhaps have done the same thing myself, for I 
know that you loved me even as I loved you. That makes 
the thought of the sin of the last few months more beara- 
ble, for I know that God will forgive me when I remem- 
ber His words of that other Magdalene: ‘ She sinned much 
in that she loved much.’ ” 

“ Good God!” 

The words fell from the poor mother’s lips with a white- 
heat horror that was indescribable. A blindness had seized 
upon her. The letter was clutched closely in her long, 
stony fingers. She was staring at it dumbly, with wild, 
sightless eyes. Her form was rigid, her face like marble. 

She seemed to take no note of time. A bell in a neigh- 


MY LITTLE PIIIXCESS. 


135 


boring steeple struck the hour twice, but she had not 
heard. If a single thought had come to lift the awful 
horror that had settled upon her brain, her countenance 
gave no indication of it. The letter was still before her. 
A loud knock upon her door aroused her. 

Mechanically she rose, feeling stiff and sore, and walk- 
ing heavily across the floor, opened the door. 

A messenger stood there with a letter and a package. 
She took both, signed her name to the tiny paper he car- 
ried, then closed the door. Unconsciously she opened the 
note and read: 

“ My deae Mrs. Millbourne, — 1 found the package 
from my friend Delevan upon my return home. As I 
leave by a very early train to-morrow, I concluded that 1 
would send it to-night. Let everything else go, and do 
your best upon this, as a future of fame and wealth de- 
pends upon your success. 

“ God bless you! With fond affection, believe me, 

“ Yours most sincerely, 

“ Ballard Hilliard. 

She crushed the inoffensive paper in her hand, her teeth 
meeting each other in a crunching way, such as one has 
heard from an angry animal. Her eyes gave forth a sort 
of green flame. 

She flung the thing from her into the embers that were 
dead now, her lips straight and stiff, but words issuing 
from them. 

“Curses upon you!^^ she cried, hoarsely. “Curses 
upon you and yours forever and forever! You have 
robbed me of my daughter, and yet you dare to come here 
to me with your Words of sympathy and condolence. You 
meet her heart-broken mother with a lie upon your false 
lips — you who are her daughter’s murderer. You think 
to ease your cursed conscience by offericg her desolate 
mother a means of earning a livelihood. You think to 


ISG 


]V1Y LITTLE PlllKOESS. 


deceive that other pure girl who trusts you, but 1 swear 
that you shall not! Oh, God! why in this land that 
prides itself upon its justice is there not some punishment 
for a wretch like that?’^ 

She paused for a moment with uplifted hand, then 
memory returned to her of that last conversation she had 
had with Carroll in that room. It all came back word for 
word as it had been spoken, and a hideous agony filled her 
countenance. Great tears poured over the white face, 
and she fell upon her knees, lifting her folded, trembling 
hands as if in supplication. 

“ My darling, my darling!^^ she whispered, hoarsely, 
“ could you not understand your mother’s heart? I told 
you that death was preferable to disgrace, but I did not 
mean it, dear. It might have been so in other cases, but 
not for you, my love — not for you! Oh, Carroll, come 
back to me! Come back, my darling! I will be so ten- 
der, so true! Never a word of reproach shall pass my lips. 
Oh, God, have pity upon me! Let me suffer anything — 
anything, only give me back my child! It is too late! 
Too late! And I drove her from me! I see it all now, 
so clearly, so cruelly clear. Carroll, can you hear me up 
there in heaven? Can you see how your poor mother 
suffers? Do you understand that she did not mean what 
she said to you, and that she would give her life— yes, her 
very soul — if she could but bring you back? Oh, my 
darling, my darling!” 

She fell forward upon her face, sobbing — sobbing in a 
way that no words can describe. 

She lay there until the gray of the morning stole 
through the windows, weeping and moaning, calling upon 
her loved one for forgiveness, begging of God that she 
might come to her desolate mother if for a moment, but 
to speak one word of love and consolation. Then as the 
morning came and reality told her that what she asked 
was impossible, she rose and looked about her. 


MY LITTLE PRIN-CESS. 


137 


Carroll’s letter was still in lier hand, the French novel 
lay upon the floor unwrapped, and Ballard Hilliard’s 
note was upon the gray ashes where she had thrown it. A 
smile that was almost cruel came over her features. Her 
eyes were upon it, and. to it she seemed to speak. 

“ 1 shall make you suffer,” she said, huskily, “ even as 
you have made her and me suffer. You think you can 
escape the vengeance of a mother? We shall see! 1 
know where to strike you hardest, and as there is a God, I 
will do it!” 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

Geraldine Kingman was standing before the window 
in the drawing-room of the Shannon residence, beating a 
tattoo upon the glass with the tips of her slender fingers, 
but the slight noise had not the power to recall her wan- 
dering thoughts. 

She was thinking of Carroll and of Ballard Hilliard, 
thanking God half consciously that the man whom 
she so loved was innocent of- any wrong; thinking, of how 
eternally what she had discovered had separated those two. 

“ Her own act has made marriage between them impos- 
sible,” she said aloud, but still speaking to herself, “ and 
the kindest thing that 1 can do is to keep her existence a 
secret. It would but bring disgrace upon her mother and 
unhappiness to Ballard, and do Carroll no good. I hope 1 
am not selfish in my decision. Heaven knows 1 want to 
act for the best, and 1 pray to God that I am not influ- 
enced by my own desires!” 

Then she was silent for a time, and stood there with 
knit brows, going all over the subject again, and seeing 
less reason than ever why she should make it known that 
Carroll had not been killed in the railroad disaster, and as 
she thought, she heard the bang of the great front door. 

She turned her head and looked down the stoop. 


138 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


It was Russell Shannon who was^ng out. 

She could not exactly understand it, but there was some- 
thing in his very carriage that made her realize that all 
was not well. She scarcely knew, what it was that she 
feared; certainly she could have given no reason why she 
should dog the footsteps of that man whom she knew to 
be able to take care of himself; but something, the con- 
versation of the night before, perhaps, made her uneasy. 

Her heart gave a great bound, then seemed to stand still. 

She stood for a moment irresolute, then, without paus-' 
ing to consider her act, she ran upstairs, secured her hat 
and wrap, and though it was growing dark, she hurried 
out into the street alone, not even leaving a message for 
her hostess. 

It was growing dark, yet so quick had her movements 
been that when she reached the street she distinctly saw 
the form of the man whom she wished to pursue not far 
in advance of her. She did not quicken her steps to over- 
take him, but keeping him well in sight, that she might 
not lose him by any sudden turn, she followed after. 

She readily recognized the fact that he was bending his 
steps toward the house that they had visited together the 
night previous, and she determined that if he called upon 
Carroll they would have their interview together, for she 
keenly felt the responsibility that she had unintentionally 
assumed. 

Still she did not join him, but kept up her position in 
the rear. ' 

She was a very few feet behind when he turned the cor- 
ner nearest to the little rickety building, her veil drawn 
across her face. She saw Harry Winter as he emerged 
from the door-way before Shannon had time to lift his 
eyes, and a low cry escaped her. She, too, had recog- 
nized the fact that he was the same man whom they had 
seen in CarrolRs room, and the same conclusion was ar- 
rived at that had so disturbed Shannon. 


MY LITTLE PEIKCESS. 


139 


Her eyes turned upon Shannon. She understood his 
feelings. She saw him spring forward. She heard the ex- 
clamation of rage. She saw him whirl Winter about as if 
he had been but a ball, and then she heaid the cry that 
issued from his white lips as Shannon recognized his friend 
and brother-in-law. 

She heard the conversation that followed and understood 
its import, yet she felt then that she dared not make her 
presence known, though Winter was an old friend of hers. 
She shrunk back, an awful fear tugging at her heart, for 
she had read aright the expression of Shannon’s face, and 
she knew that some terrible scene was about to follow. 

Her resolution was quickly taken. She would know 
where they went and be ready to take action in the event 
of its reaching the point she feared. 

She flitted along behind them in the gathering gloom? 
sometimes almost unable to keep up with their long, 
swinging strides without running, but never losing them 
for a moment. She saw them enter the house where Win- 
ter lived. The door closed upon them. 

She paused for a second to consider, then boldly mounted 
the steps. ^ 

“Is this a boarding-house?” she asked of the servant 
who answered her ring at the bell. 

“ No, madame. We let rooms.” 

“ May I see the person who keeps the house?” 

“ Yes, madame. Walk in, please:” 

She entered the drawing-room and sat down. It 
seemed to her an age before the lady of the house made 
her appearance. She was growing too nervous to have 
borne it longer, when the door opened and a pleasant-faced 
woman entered. Miss Kingman heaved a sigh of relief. 

She rose and went straight up to her, knowing that it 
was best to state her errand boldly. 

“Madame,” she said, endeavoring to speak quietly, 
but not succeeding very well, “I have come upon an 


140 


MY LITTLE PKINCESS. 


errand that may seem singular to you, and yet I implore 
you to grant a request that 1 shall make/^ 

The woman looked interested. 

“ Won’t you be seated?” she asked, politely. 

Miss Kingman shook her head, glancing nervously in 
the direction of the door. 

“ No,” she answered. “ There is not time. You have 
a gentleman boarding with you — Doctor Harry Winter?” 

“Yes.” 

“ He came in but a moment ago with another gentle- 
man. They have gone to Doctor Winter’s room. Ma- 
dame, I know you will think it a most extraordinary re- 
quest, but 1 want to ask your permission to hear the con- 
versation that' passes between those two.” 

The woman drew back. 

“ Are you a detective?” she asked. 

“ Ko. It is my desire to avoid publicity instead of seek- 
ing it. 1 have reason to believe that there will be trouble 
between those two, and if it really comes to that I wish to 
prevent it. I should prefer their not knowing the action 
that 1 have taken, in the event of their being no trouble be- 
tween them, but 1 greatly fear that there will be some 
dreadful result from this interview if you refuse.” 

“ I do confess that what you ask is most extraordinary. 
Doctor Winter has been in my house for some time, and I 
have found him — ” 

“ A gentleman always; but the greatest gentleman upon 
earth will get into trouble sometimes. I am seriously 
afraid that you will regret it if you refuse. Come with 
me, if you will; then if you think that I have heard that to 
which I should not have listened, take me before those t^o 
when their conversation is ended. But, first, you must 
agree that anything you hear is to remain a secret. ” 

“It is foolish to ask that, because you don’t know 
whether 1 should keep my word or not, even under any 
promise. My honor is sufficient without my word. 


:my little princess. 


141 


though I confess that it seems sadly compromised in 
yielding to your request.-’^ 

“ But you will not refuse?^’ 

“ I will not. You are a lady. We will trust each other 
for once. 

She led the way, and the two entered a room adjoining 
that occupied by Dr. Winter and communicating by a 
door. Every word was distinctly audible. 

The landlady was convinced that she had not done 
wrong in granting the request of her strange visitor when 
she heard the words addressed by Dr. Winter to his guest: 

“Now either leave my room, or believe yourself like a 
gentleman. 

We know what followed. 

Shannon's voice was lifted in auger. The woman drew 
back, convulsively clutching the arm of her guest. 

“ What are we to do?" she gasped. “ They will fight, 
sure!" 

Geraldine Kingman was white to the lips. Something 
in Dr. Winter's manner had made her doubt his guilt, 
though she scarcely confessed it even to herself. The 
words of the lady beside her seemed a positive relief. 

“ We must prevent that," she said, hurriedly. “ It 
was fear of that which brought me here. Is there any way 
through which we can get into that room?" 

“ None, if they have locked the door leading to the hall. 
This one is fastened by a very heavy bolt on the other 
side." 

Miss Kingman leaned forward and applied her ear to 
the key-hole. She shrunk back with a cry of alarm. 

“ My God!" she exclaimed, “ there is not a moment to 
be lost. Come!" 

She dashed into the hall, followed closely by the woman 
of the house, and flung open the door leading to Harry 
Winter's room. ^ 

Shannon's fingers were clasping W^inter's throat. 


142 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


“ For the love of Heaven, stop!^^ she cried, wildly. 
“ Have you both gone mad?^^ 

She was between them almost before they realized what 
had happened, and the two men had fallen apart. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

There was an expression half of anger, half of shame 
upon the face of Russell Shannon as he realized what had 
happened; but Harry Winter^s eyes blazed with wrath. 
His teeth were set deeply into his lips to prevent the flow 
of indignant words that he felt rising to them. 

Miss Kingman glanced from one to the other, then her 
womanhood overcame her, and she would have fainted but 
that Winter caught her in time and placed her upon a 
chair. The lady who kept the house went forward and 
placed her arm about the shrinking girl. White and 
giddy, Geraldine Kingman sat there, but she was effectu- 
ally recalled by hearing Russell Shannon’s remark, made 
in an under- tone, to Hr. Winter: 

“ We shall meet again whenever you like; only let it be 
soon. I tell you that this is a matter that can not — shall 
not rest.” 

Winter’s face crimsoned. He glanced hastily in the 
direction of Miss Kingman, recognizing readily enough 
that she had heard, and, worse still, that she understood 
the meaning and cause of the remark. 

He bowed coldly to his brother-in-law. 

Miss Kingman was upon ‘her feet almost immediately, 
her white face looking spectral against her burning eyes. 

“ What is it that you would do?” she cried, her hands 
clasped tightly together, her voice thick and hoarse. “ Ho 
you wish to make the shame of that poor girl public? Is 
it your desire to brand her before all the world? She is 
dead to those who are nearest to her — whom her sorrow 
would most disgrace; then, for the love of God, let her re- 


MY LITTLE PKINCESS. 


143 


main so! Do you think that your fighting can erase the 
terrible wrong that has been done her? For shame, Hus- 
sell! Are you a man or a child that you allow your feel- 
ings to so overrule your reason?’^ 

Shannon fiushed, but Winter had grown pale as deatn. 
He was watching Miss Kingman with an expression of 
countenance that was like that of a wounded animal, 
speechlessly pleading. 

- “ 1 do not intend to harm her!’^ Shannon exclaimed* 

doggedly; “ but 1 swear that justice shall be done her!’^ 

“ And do you think that fighting can force any but a 
physical coward?” asked Miss Kingman, heavily. “ If 
you can not persuade by words — if you can not convince 
the heart through the reason — if you can not make one 
see the wrong he has done and repair it by kindness, do 
you think that you can do it by force?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Then 1 tell you that you can not! I am the impar- 
tial friend of the girl whom we would both avenge if we 
could, and therefore 1 can see more clearly than you can. 
You are doing her more harm than good. You will regret 
your act. You will receive no thanks from her. Come 
with me, at least, until you have had time to think this 
over.” 

She held oiit her hand. For a moment Shannon hesi- 
tated. He did not like the idea of being treated as if he 
were a boy who had been detected in some foolish quarrel 
and chidden for his temper. But there was nothing that 
he could do. He could not fight in the presence of ladies, 
and lie did not wish to say anything further upon the sub- 
ject to Winter in their presence. 

He turned quietly and picked up his hat from the table 
where he had laid it, glancing but once in the direction of 
Winter. 

“ To-morrow,” he said, briefly. 

Then he offered his arm to Miss Kingman. 


U4 


MY LITTLE PEINCESS. 


They were about to leave the room together. Winter’s 
face was a study. He seemed to be struggling against 
some tremendous emotion — some overpowering desire that 
finally mastered him. Before they had reached the door 
he sprung forward and caught Miss Kingman’s arm. 

“ One minute!” he cried, hoarsely. “ 1 scorn to ex- 
plain anything to this man who has accused me of so vile — . 
so loathsome an act, and more especially having known 
me and been my friend, as I believed, for years; but to 
you it is different. I can not let you go believing me 
capable of an act so despicable.” 

Miss Kingman turned, her hand grasping Shannon’s 
arm convulsively. Her color came and went with sur- 
prising rapidity. She leaned faintly against the door-cas- 
ing, her eyes fixed upon Winter’s set face. 

“ Go on,” she said, durlly. 

“ I don’t know what startling evidence you two can have 
against me to accuse me of a dastardly crime like this, but 
before Heaven I am innocent! I swear to you upon the 
honor of a gentleman that I never even knew until this 
man told me that the lady in question was not a widow!” 

Miss Kingman glanced from him to Shannon in a nerv- 
ous, questioning way that showed but too clearly that her 
convictions were much shaken. 

Shannon smiled satirically. 

“ Are you so easily convinced?” he asked, coldly. 

“ 1 tell you again!” exclaimed Winter, earnestly, 
“ that to the day of my death I should never either have 
acknowledged or denied this thing to Shannon, neither 
should 1 have taken any pains to convince him in any way, 
but I can not allow myself to be stamped as a scoundrel 
in the eyes of the woman for whom I entertain the great- 
est respect, without at least an effort to clear myself of the 
false charge.” 

“ Then you are not guilty?” said Miss Kingman, speak- 
ing her thoughts aloud without intention. 


MY LITTLE PKINCESS. 


145 


“ I am not. If you have any doubt upon the subject, 
come with me to the lady. I can prove to you by her and 
by others that I never saw her in my life until I met her 
in the hospital where her child was born. Her peculiarly 
friendless condition appealed to me, and I promised to do 
for her what I could. For that- purpose — simply to see if 
I could not make life a trifle less hard for a woman whom 
1 pitied — I called upon her twice in her new quarters. I 
was there last night, and again to-night. If 1 have com- 
mitted a criminal act in an endeavor to lighten a burden 
that seemed to me too heavy to be borne by shoulders so 
frail, then I am guilty: but in nothing else am 1.” 

“Is this true?^^ 

“ 1 do not ask you to take my word. 1 can prove all 
that 1 have said. ” 

He was standing with his arms folded upon his breast. 
His face was magnificent in its pallid hauteur. Miss King- 
man put out her hand to him impulsively. He flushed 
deeply as he took it. 

“ I believe you without proof,^’ she said, with emotion. 
“ 1 need no other voice than yours to tell me that you are 
innocent. I know it. ” 

He looked the gratitude that for a moment his lips re- 
fused to utter. 

“ Can you forgive me?’^ she asked, simply. 

“ There is nothing to forgive. You are not to blame,^’ 
he answered, slowly. “ I can not*sufficiently express my 
regret that such an outrageous scene has occurred in your 
presence, but I thank you for your confidence. I can bear 
anything else better than want of that.^^ 

He had not meant to say so much, but the undercur- 
rent of the words was not noticed by her. She turned to 
llussell Shannon, and there were tears in her eyes. 

“ Can not you also see that he is speaking the truth?’^ 
she asked, tremulously. “ Can you not see that you shall 
have to look further for the guilty man in this case? 


146 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


Don’t you know when you look in Harry Winter’s face 
that he is incapable of the act that we have ascribed to 
him?” 

Shannon did not speak. His eyes were fixed search- 
ingly upon Winter’s countenance, but the latter was not 
looking at him. Miss Kiogman was the only object of in- 
terest in that room to him. There was gratitude in the 
expression, but no approach to guilt. 

“ Oh, Russell, are you not great of soul enough to ac- 
knowledge your error when you have made one?” asked 
Miss Kingman, reproachfully, not understanding his 
silence. 

“ Yes,” he answered, quietly, in a manly, straightfor- 
ward way that was infinitely becoming to him. ‘‘ I am 
ready to acknowledge that I have been a fool, blinded by 
my own stupefying pain. 1 took for granted a thing that 
might have ruined the life of my friend, or — made of me 
a murderer. I have made a great ass of myself, Harry. 
1 have accused you of a thing for which I should not ex- 
cuse a man were I in your place, and yet I ask you to for- 
give me.” 

For a moment Winter hesitated; then he put out his 
hand and grasped that of his dead wife’s brother. 

“ Let us forget it,” he said, huskily. 

“ Kot quite that,” returned Shannon, dully. “1 can 
not forget, because the guilty wretch exists! If he were 
dead, 1 might try, but as long as he lives, the determination 
shall live in me to find him and cause him to repair the 
horrible wrong he has done, let the circumstances be what 
they may. I shall not make another mistake such as this, 
but when I have found him he shall understand the debt 
that he has got to pay. ” 

There was an expression in the eyes that made Miss 
Kingman shudder. There was no defined thought in her 
mind, but somehow she dreaded the time when Russell 
IShanuon should discover the man whom he sought. She 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


147 


would have scorned herself could she have^ realized that 
there was a doubt in her mind of Ballard Hilliard, but it 
was there, gaunt and shadowy, but still a doubt. 

Her lips were white and stiff as she turned to leave the 
room. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Once again Russell Shannon and Miss Kingman were 
detained by Harry Winter. 

“ While I thank you for the confidence that you have 
shown in me,^^ he said, with dignity, “ it is not my desire 
that there should be the remotest doubt at any future time 
in my entire innocence of this charge, and therefore I ask 
it as a favor that you go with me to call upon this lad}’. 
One can never tell what may occur in the future, and 1 do 
not wish that there ever should come a time when the mat- 
ter would not be quite at rest.^^ 

There was, of course, at first a demur from both persons, 
-but Dr.- Winter insisted so strongly upon his point that 
they finally yielded, and together they went to call upon 
Carroll. 

The visil was not fraught with any degree of pleasure to 
any one of the four, but was painful in the extreme. Car- 
rolPs feelings were spared all that was possible for justice 
to be done an innocent person. 

Perhaps there was no one of the number more thor- 
oughly miserable as they left the wretched room than was 
Miss Kingman. She had carefully avoided Ballard Hil- 
liard’s name, even in the private conversation that she had 
had with Carroll, and that of itself was an indication of the 
suspicion that she would never have acknowledged to even 
her own heart. 

It was still quite early when the trio left Carroll, and at 
their invitation Dr. Winter accompanied them home. 
But once there. Miss Kingman would have excused herself 


148 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


and have gone to her room, had not Shannon forestalled 
her by a request that he be excused for half an hour, and 
also that they found that Mrs. Shannon had retired to 
her room with a most severe headache. 

It was without a feeling of embarrassment that Geral- 
dine Kingman was left alone with Harry Winter. She 
was thinking too much of Garroll— wondering, with a 
vague shiver of apprehension, who had caused the terrible 
sorrow in that young life — scarcely daring to think, yet 
longing to be alone, when she realized that he was speaking 
to her. 

“ Have you known Mrs. Mills — or Miss Millbourne — 
long?’^ he asked. 

“ All her life, 1 think,^^ she answered. 

“ Then surely you are able to judge something of whom 
she has loved. 

“ Ko!^' she exclaimed, hastily, endeavoring to suppress 
the shudder that she feared he might observe. “ I do not 
know whom she has loved; I do not even suspect. There 
was— one who — loved her — who would have made her his 
wife; but she was not willing. 

“ Poor fellow!^^ 

“ Why do you say that?^' 

“ Because the greatest curse that can befall a man is to 
love without being loved in return.’^ 

“ Or a woman either. 

Miss Kingman’s head was lowered. She did not speak 
as one does who simply acquiesces in a statement, or even 
as one who sympathizes in an assertion. Her voice was 
almost inaudible, and filled with a suffering that would 
not be denied expression. 

Harry Winter started. His face flushed. He rose and 
stood leaning his elbow upon the mantel-piece, looking 
down upon her. The room was lighted only with the red 
fire-glow that was shining on them both. He looked at 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


149 


her for some moments in silence, wondering if he had un- 
derstood her aright. AVhen he spoke his voice trembled. 

“It is not possible that you could know that from ex- 
perience,^’ he said, softly. “ You could not love without 
reciprocation. ” ; 

Something in the tone, something in the scene, seemed to 
arouse all the womanly weakness in Geraldine Kingman’s 
nature. A slow tear trickled through her eyelids, and as 
she felt it upon her cheek it seemed to break down every 
barrier. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed in 
a heart-broken way that seemed to unman her listener. 
He bore it for some moments in silence; then, unable to 
endure it longer, he knelt beside her and took the trem- 
bling form in his arms. 

“ What is it, Jerry?” he whispered. “ Don’t cry like 
that, my darling; you break my heart. For more than a 
year I have nourished and cherished the hope that one day 
I might win you for my wife. The death of that hope is 
almost like death of the soul to me. Jerry, do you know 
^at it is that you are forcing me to believe? It is that 
you have loved not wisely — ” 

“But too well!” she interrupted, striving to control 
her voice. “Forgive me. I should not have submitted 
you to this scene. But there are times when I am so 
weak — so weak!” 

“ And the man whom you love — ” 

“ Don’t ask me that, Harry. And yet it is but right 
that I should tell you. I am his promised wife!” 

“ You?” 

“Yes. Did you not know? Had you not heard of my 
engagement of years’ standing to Ballard Hilliard?” 

“ 1 never knew.” 

“ I thought every one did.” 

“ But— I don’t quite understand. You do not Jove 
him—” 


150 


MY LITTLE PEINCESS. 


“ It is not that, God help me! It is that he does not 
love me/' 

“ Jerry!" 

“ You see how weak I am in that 1 can tell you this. 
There is no one in all this world to whom I have spoken 
on this subject but you. I did not intend it." 

“ But who is so able to sympathize with you as I am? — 
I who have suffered in like manner? — I who am suffering 
now as never man did before?" 

“And all because of me?" 

“ All because 1 love you!" 

“ Oh, how sorry lam! I never suspected! I — " 

“ Hush! Don't think that it is necessary to speak to 
me like that. How were you to suspect when 1 have kept 
it so carefully concealed, lest I should betray it at a time 
that was inopportune, and so lose my chance. Ah, Jerry^ 
dearest heart, I know what your misery is! But tell me, 
dear, what shall you do?" 

“ How do you mean?" 

“ Shall you marry him?" 

“Yes." 

There was something dogged in the manner in which she 
pronounced the word. Winter drew back, an expression 
of horror in his eyes. 

“ You would not do that, Jerry!" he exclaimed, ear- 
nestly. “ Think, dear, what you are saying. He does 
not love you. Are you sure of that?" 

“ I have tried to convince myself to the contrary, but I 
can not. 1 don't know why 1 tell you this. God knows 
it is humiliating enough!" 

“ You tell me because you know that 1 would give my 
life to aid you. You tell me because you feel in your heart 
that I would gladly give every joy in life if I could but 
bring you the love that ought to be yours. But may it 
not be possible that you wrong him?" 

Geraldine Kingman shivered. 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 151 

“ No!’^ she groaned. “ I could not mistake what he 
has told me with his own lips.^^ 

“ And yet you would marry him.^ Oh, Jerry 

“ It is because 1 believe that I can be of service to him. 
It is because I believe that one day he will love me as 1 
love him. It is because — 

“ Do you really believe all that, child, or are you striv- 
ing to delude yourself?^^ 

She hesitated a moment, then began to sob afresh. 

“ Jerry,’^ he said, tenderly, “ be true to yourself, my 
darling. I am not pleading for myself now. You can’t 
understand what life will be to you if you go into this mar- 
riage in which the love is all upon your side. It would be 
so much, so infinitely better, if it were but reversed, and 
the love were upon his side. There is that in a woman’s 
nature that will always keep her in the line of truth and 
virtue if she be truly a woman in its better sense, but every 
man must love to be what his wife deserves. That is why 
marriage is so often a failure. The love is so seldom of 
the right kind on the part of the man, and when it is not, 
or when there is none at all, God help them both!” 

“ But I may win his love.” 

“ I know it is the popular idea with fictional characters, 
but I tell you that it is not true. Y^ou never yet saw the 
case in which the wife won what the sweetheart could not. ” 

“ I will not believe it!” she cried, passionately. “ God 
would not be so cruel! It is not true! Would you not 
marry me, if you really love me as you say, and risk the 
coming of love?” 

He hesitated for a long time. Harry Winter was an 
honest and conscientious man, and he wanted to be sure 
that he was uttering the truth. He turned to the fire and 
buried his face in his hands for many minutes. When 
he lifted it it was gray with passion. 

“ God help me!” he exclaimed, hoarsely; “lam afraid 
that I would!” 


152 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


Geraldine Kingman leaped to her feet. 

“You would?’^ she cried, wildly, “and so shall I! I 
will marry Ballard Hilliard! I swear it! If I cannot 
win his love afterward, then 1 can do that which we must 
all do sooner or later — I can die! But I will be his wife! 
There is nothing that shall prevent that! Nothing I’"’ 


CHAPTEE XXIX. 

The night that followed was one of unusual horror to 
Geraldine Kingman. She went to bed after Harry Winter 
had left her, and tried to sleep; but that vague, shadowy 
unrest that had attacked her when she stood listening at 
the door of the room that contained Dr. Winter and Bus- 
sell Shannon would not be stilled. She tried many times 
to shake it off, but it would not leave her. 

She rose, and in her bare feet walked hurriedly up and 
down the room, thinking to force sleep through physical 
exhaustion, but without result. A nervousness that was 
almost like hysteria had attacked her; but still she had 
never acknowledged, even to her own heart, what it was 
she feared— what it was she thought. 

“ What is the matter with me?’^ she asked of herself 
many times, endeavoring to choke off the premonition that 
seemed about to drive her mad. “ What is this unreal 
thing with which I am torturing myself? It is absurd, 
ridiculous! I will go to bed and to sleep. 

But, in spite of resolution and effort, there was no sleep^ 
for her, and it was with a feeling of positive rejoicing that 
she saw the morning break. 

“ The day! Thank God!’^ she muttered, pushing back 
the disarranged hair from her haggard brow. “ Another 
night like that would kill me. And all for what?” 

She sat for a moment in deep reflection, staring into the 
gray, deserted street, then suddenly started up. 

“I must go home to-day!” she cried, her teeth chatter- 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


153 


ing together curiously. ‘‘ My week is up, and Ballard said 
that if I did not come home he would come after me. I 
must not allow him the opportunity to come after me; I 
must keep him out of this town, because I have promised 
Carroll that he shall not know. Great heavens! how am 
1 ever to keep that promise? Already that helpless baby 
has spoiled my whole life! Am I to go through existence 
with that secret that has already grown to be a nightmare 
upon my mind? Must I always preserve it, when it has 
already grown odious to me? Oh, God! why have 1 been 
forced to share this secret? Why could it not have been 
kept from me as well?’^ 

She bowed her head upon the sill of the window for a 
time, and moaned, then she arose angrily and stood there 
looking out into the threatening sky. 

“ After all, what have 1 to do with Carroll Millbourne 
and her child?^^ she cried, coldly. “ I am making an 
egregious fool of myself! She is nothing to me— never 
has been, save the object of my charity. Why should she 
come between me and my lifers happiness? There is no 
reason, and she shall not! I will put this thing out of my 
life. 1 will forget that she does not lie up there in W ood- 
lawn, near the lake, where we have all visited her, and 1 
will be happy in my own way. 

Her teeth were set firmly. There was an expression in 
her eyes that did not indicate any great degree of enjoy- 
ment; but, with nerves that had grown almost firm under 
the tensity of her resolution, she began to pack her trunk. 

She forgot the hours, in her occupation, and was aston- 
ished when a knock sounded upon her door. She threw 
it open. 

“ What is the hour, Lizette?^^ she asked of the maid. 

“ Scarcely nine, ma^am,^^ she replied. 

“ So late? I had no idea of that."’^ 

“ Mr. Hilliard is here, ma’am. 

“Mr. Hilliard?” 


154 


MY LITTLE PIIINCESS. 


“ Yes, nia^am/^ 

Miss Kingman had grown pale. For a moment the old - 
horror returned to her, then a flush glowed in her cheeks. 

“ Tell him that 1 will be down at once!^' she exclaimed. 

She closed the door and went swiftly to the glass. A 
crimson spot burned in either cheek. She was tremen- 
dously excited. 

“ He does love me!^^ she cried, as if striving to convince 
herself 6t something she knew to be untrue. “ He does 
love me! He would not have come so early else. 1 will 
never believe anything else again! I must take him back 
at once, in order to prevent his finding out about her. 1 
do it only for his good. Nothing else — nothing else! It 
would but make him miserable, and surely -we have both 
had enough of that.^’ 

Very rapidly she had rearranged her toilet, taking un- 
usual pains with her hair, then descended to the drawing- 
room, where her betrothed husband waited. 

He bent and kissed her. 

What was it in the act that sent a shiver through all her 
being? She could not have answered definitely, yet a 
thought was struggling for recognition in her brain. Was 
that the kiss of a lover? Was that the embrace of a be- 
trothed husband? Was there the warmth of longing in 
his caress? Or was it not something that savored very 
strongly of remorse, this manner of his? 

He had held her very closely to him for a moment, but 
it was in such a position that she could not see his face. 
He had kissed her, but the caress contained none of the 
enthusiasm of a lover. Her very soul sickened under it, 
and yet, unconsciously, she resolved sternly that she would 
not see. 

She laughed a trifle hysterically, took his face between 
her hands, and kissed it of her own accord. 

“ I am so glad you have come,’^ she cried, striving to 
speak lightly. “ I have my things all packed, and we 


MY LITTLE PEINCESS. 


155 


shall start for home at once. It will Seem so good to be 
back again r’ 

“ Then you have not enjoyed it?’^ 

“Oh, yes! It would be ungrateful to say that I have 
not, would it not? But I shall be glad to be at home 
again for all that. 1 have missed you so, Ballard.'’’ 

“ Have you, dear? I am glad to hear that. I need not 
tell you how lonely I have been.” 

“ Have you really?” she asked, the laughter dying from 
her face, and a serious wistfulness taking its place. 

“ Eeally? Why, to be sure, little woman. Did you 
think that 1 should not? My life contains very little else 
than you, you know. I have wandered about like a sheep 
that had strayed away from the fold since you have been 
away. Oh, yes, Jerry, you may be quite sure that I was 
lonely enough to please even the most exacting woman!” 

A brilliant light was dancing in her eyes, a spot of crim- 
son had come to* either cheek. She lifted herself and 
kissed him upon the chin. 

“ 1 shall never leave you again, Ballard,” she said, with 
infinite tenderness, and some catch in the voice that sug- 
gested the nearness of terns. 

“ That is good. But when am 1 to have you for my 
own, Jerry?” he asked, gently, but still painfully unen- 
thusiastic. “ You know that you promised that you 
would answer me at the end of the week.” 

A defiant expression that he could not quite comprehend 
came into her eyes. She lifted her head, her lips firmly 
set, her breath peculiarly repressed. 

“ I am ready to become your wife, Ballard, at any time 
— at any time that you may desire it.” 

He hesitated a moment. A pallor that was almost pite- 
ous came about his mouth. He put up his hand to con- 
ceal the trembling of his lips. His face had suddenly 
grown haggard and gray. 


156 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


“ Thank you, dear/'’ lie said, slowly. “ Then we will 
arrange it immediately upon our return to New York.’^ 

He sat down in a chair, without an invitation, or wait- 
ing for her to be seated. The room had grown strangely 
dark to him. He weakly lifted the hair from his brow. 
He seemed to feel as the condemned wretch does who has 
listened to the reading of his death-warrant. 

And did Miss Kingman see it all? She would not! She 
closed her eyes for a moment to overcome her giddiness, 
then she, too, sat down. 

There was a long silence between them — a most peculiar 
silence under the circumstances — then Hilliard put out 
his cold hand and gently stroked her wrist. 

“ When shall we be ready to go?’^ he asked, trying to 
infuse his voice with some degree of interest. 

“ To-day — this morning!’’ she answered, barely able to 
control the rising hysteria in the tone. “ I should have 
gone anyway if you had not come.” 

“ Are you not cutting your visit a d^ or two short?” 

“ Yes— no! No matter. I am tired. 1 want to be at 
home. There is no place like one’s home, after all. Oh, 
Ballard, I wish to God I had not come! I wish to God 
you had insisted upon my remaining that morning in the 
studio when I told you that I was going!” 

She had lost her, self-control for the moment, and a long 
sob struggled through her lips. Hilliard had never heard 
anything like that from her before. He was startled into 
a forgetfulness of his own misery. He took her hand and 
leaned toward her. 

“Why, Jerry!” he exclaimed. “What is the matter 
with you, dear? Why is it that you wish you had not 
come? Has anything happened, little one?” 

“ No!” she answered, shivering and pushing back the 
heavy hair from her forehead. “ You must not mind me. 
I am nervous this morning, that is all. I — I did not 
sleep well last night, and my head aches,” 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 157 

“ Then perhaps vve had better wait over, and go to- 
morrow.^' ^ 

“No! no! no! There is nothing that could induce me 
to stay in this town another day — another hour. 1 feel as 
if I should suffocate here. I must go — 1 must or die, I 
tell you! Oh, Ballard, Ballard, take me home!" 

And, more astonished than he had almost ever been be- 
fore in his life, Hilliard consented. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

It was not a difficult thing for Miss Kingman to make 
excuses to her hostess for the suddenness of her departure, 
for, while Mrs. Shannon admired and loved her guest, she 
was never one to insist upon prolonging a visit after an in- 
tention had been declared to bring it to a close. There- 
fore, after a promise had been exacted that it would be 
repeated soon, and a playful reproof given to Hilliard for 
robbing her, she allowed Geraldine to go. 

The latter saw Shannon for a moment alone before en- 
tering the carriage to be driven to the station. 

“ For goodness' sake, be careful what you do!" she said 
to him, earnestly. “ Think what miglit have happened 
between you and Harry Winter if it had not been for my 
interference. Remember how unjust your accusation was, 
and have a care for the future. Will you promise me 
that you will?" 

Shannon's eyes were fixed upon the floor. His haggard 
face appealed very strongly to her. 

“ Yes," he answered, wearily; “ I shall try; but it 
seems to me that there is very little left in life. If 1 
could but find that wretch 1 think 1 should kill him, and 
then I should take her away and make her forget." 

Miss Kingman shuddered, the old pallor that her de- 
parture had erased returning. 

“Don't speak like that. Do you think there would 


158 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


ever be any happiness for either of you after you had done 
a thing like that? One crime does not wipe out another.’^ 

“ Perhaps not. It is so absolutely dreary and desolate, 
this thing of living, that, after all, I might but be doing 
him a favor. 1 don’t think you understand how it is 
with me, Jerry. If Carroll had died, I could have borne 
it with the fortitude that a man should show; but I think 
this thing has robbed me of all my courage. I am not 
like myself. I could have given her to another man 
whom she loved, with all my heart; but to see her like 
this> to know that she is the accursed of her sex, through 
a scoundrel whose identity I can not discover, maddens 
me!” 

Miss Kingman’s lips were twitching nervously. She 
strove to steady her voice as she replied : 

“ Eemember that you can do her no good by hasty and 
unconsidered actions, and you may do something that you 
will have cause to regret all your life. If anything hap- 
pens, you will let me know, will you not?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good-bye.” 

“ Good-bye, and God bless you! I suppose we shall re- 
ceive cards to your wedding shortly?” 

A spasm of pain contracted the handsome face. 

“ Yes,” she answered, endeavoring to speak lightly. 

“ You ought to be a very happy woman.” 

She did not lift her eyes. 

“ Why?” she asked. 

“ Because Ballard Hilliard is a noble man. He is an 
ornament to his sex, and it should be the pride of your 
heart that you have won the love of such a man.” 

Miss Kingman did not reply. She stood there in her 
traveling-dress picking at the button upon her glove, her 
eyes downcast, an expression that might also be translated 
into shame upon her countenance. There was a curious 
silence between them; then, unable to bear it, she put out 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


159 


her hand and clasped his closely. Suddenly there seemed 
a new bond of sympathy established between them. She 
could not exactly comprehend it. 

“ Good-bye/^ she whispered.. 

He pressed his lips upon her forehead. 

“ Hilliard would not grudge me that!'" he exclaimed, 
with a wan smile. “ It is the kiss of a brother, you know, 
Jerry. ? 

“ Yes, I know. You will write?^’ j 

“Yes.^’ 

There was another pressure of the hand, warm and 
close, then she went back to Mrs. Shannon and Hilliard. 

“ I was just about to come for you,^^ the latter said. 
“We have no more than time to catch the train. Are 
you ready?’^ 

“ Yes.^^ 

The homeward journey was fitfully silent and gay, 
marked at one moment by laughter and at the next by 
sighs. That something unusual had happened to his fiancee, 
Ballard Hilliard felt assured, but he did not consider it 
wise to question her upon the subject until she had shown 
an inclination to take him into her confidence. He there- 
fore humored her moods in every way. 

He remained to luncheon with her at her request, but 
when he saw that she was wearied, half exhausted later, he 
left her. 

“ Take an hour’s rest, Jerry,” he said, as he touched 
his lips to hers at parting. “ I will come to dine with you 
this evening, if I may, and then we can arrange our fut- 
ure when you are feeling more like yourself. Your trip 
has utterly wearied you.” 

She did not insist upon his remaining, but watched him 
wistfully as he got into his coat, then handed him his hat 
herself. 

“ Good-bye,” she said, her lip trembling piteously. “ I 
have such a strange feeling in my heart, Ballard. I wish 


IGO 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


you would put your arms closely about me — just once, 
dear. Hold me tightly and kiss me while 1 shut my eyes 
and try to fancy that it is real. 

He looked at her curiously — hysteria was so foreign to 
her nature. What could it mean? 

He took her in his arms and pressed her head tenderly 
upon his shoulder. 

“ What are you saying, little one?^^ he questioned, 
gently. “You are not at all like yourself. Should you 
have to shut your eyes to fancy my kisses real?^^ 

She shook her head and tried to smile, but it was a very 
wintery effort. She disengaged herself from his arms and 
pushed Wm slightly from her. Even the palpable fraud 
that she had tried to put upon herself was a failure. 

“ I am tired,^' she answered, huskily. “ That is all. 
When you return 1 shall be quite myself. You must 
think me very silly, dear, but 1 shall not distress you like 
this again. Go, now. Be sure you come to -me early. 
Don^t let anything detain you. I feel strangely nervous 
and — ’’ 

“ Perhaps 1 had better not go at all.^^ 

“ Y'es; I had much rather you would. 

He kissed her once with the tenderness of a brother, 
then the door closed upon him. 

She went to the window and watched the tall, manly 
form until it had disappeared, scarcely able to control her 
sobbing. Then, when he was quite gone, she pulled her- 
self up with a little shake. 

“ What fancies are these to which I am giving way?” 
she cried to herself, indignantly. “ 1 might as well ac- 
khowledge it to myself. I am insulting niy betrothed hus- 
band with the vilest suspicion that ever entered a woman’s 
heart. 1 think I should stab the person who dared inti- 
mate so horrible a lie to me of him, and yet, in my own 
heart, 1 am doing him an injustice that his worst enemy 
would hesitate to put upon him. Oh, shame — shame!” 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


161 


She walked quickly up and down the floor once or twice, 
Ihen sat down and leaned her head dejectedly upon her 
hands. How long she had been so she was unable to say, 
when one of the servants entered. 

“ Mrs. Millbourne is here, Miss Kingman,^^ he an- 
nounced. “ Will you see her?’^ 

Geraldine sprung up. Here was some one who loved 
Ballard even as she did. A flush sprung to her cheeks. 
She was glad that Mrs. Millbourne had come, for, in spite 
of the secret that was burning in her breast of the exist- 
ence of Mrs. Millbourne^s child, they could talk of Ballard, 
and Mrs^ Millbourne’s perfect confidence would restore 
hers. She was ashamed of herself for the thought, and 
yet she hurriedly gave her servant, permission to show her 
friend to the room. 

And then? 

She started back with a cry of alarm when she saw the 
ghastly features, the disordered appearance, of the woman 
who had been one of the neatest she had ever known. She 
did not speak, but stood there facing CarrolBs mother, her 
hands pressed upon her breast, her breath coming in little 
pan ts. 

The elder woman had paused, leaning in her exhaustion 
against the door. She waited but a moment, however, 
-then closed the door and went slowly, in an almost spectral 
way, up to the girl who had loved her daughter. 

“ I have come to tell you something, Geraldine King- 
man,’^ she said, hoarsely. “ For years you have been the 
best friend I have had — I and my family — perhaps the 
only one. I have loved you next to my own child, and with 
reason. I have often thought that if the time ever came 
when 1 had an opportunity of doing it, I would gladly lay 
down my life for you; and yet I am here to-day to strike 
you the most cruel blow that has ever come into your 
young life.^’ 

Still Miss Kingman did not speak. Her tongue seemed to 


3IY LITTLE PEIUCESS. 


162 

cleave to the roof of her mouth. She was incapable of word 
or movement. Seeing which, Mrs. Millbourne continued: 

“ I have come,"’ she said, slowly, “ to prove to you that 
he whom you love is the vilest scoundrel that ever dis- 
graced the name of man.” 

The color surged Trom Miss Kingman’s throat to brow. 
“ How dare you say that?” she exclaimed, her voice 
refusing to rise above a whisper, in her awful anger. 
“ How dare you come to me with a wretched falsehood — ” 
“ Wait! You could not believe in him more than I did. 
You could not trust him more than I have done. There 
is nothing that could have convinced me but the voice of 
the dead, proclaiming his guilt in a tone that would not be 
misunderstood. And as 1 have heard, so also shall you. 
There is the letter. Read!” 

She held out that cruel letter in her hand, and Miss 
Kingman stood there, looking down upon it, but not dar- 
ing to touch it. She seemed frozen into ice. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

In her dimly lighted little room Carroll sat with her 
sleeping child upcn her knee. She was not looking at the 
baby, but at the torn curtain that shaded the tiny window. 

It did not require a second glance into the pale, haggard 
face to know that the reflections of that child-woman were 
far from pleasant. She was striving to make some plan 
of future action, without a ray of hope to build upon. The 
small supply of money that she had earned while with 
Mrs. Shannon was almost exhausted, and she knew that 
work must be done or her baby would starve. Yet what 
was there to do? 

She knew that with that little incumbrance it was worse 
than useless for her to attempt the work of a servant; for 
even had she the strength to accomplish it, no one would 


HY LITTLE PRINCESS. 163 

employ her, and she was trying very hard not to deceive 
herself in anything. 

She could not teach, even had she the pupils, for her 
education was not of the kind that admits of that. There 
seemed absolutely nothing that she could do, look at it in 
whatever light she would. It was a dreary prospect, and 
it is not to be wondered at that her faint heart sunk in 
hopelessness and dread. 

She lifted the baby and pressed its tiny face against her 
own. 

“ But for you, my darling, I could face it bravely 
enough,^^ she whispered, sobbingly. “ Without bread I 
should die, and that would be the end of all; but I can 
not see you suffer, my little Princess. I shall move heaven 
and earth to-morrow to find something for you and me, 
my pretty one. Oh, baby, baby! what a bitter world it 
has beon for me, and will be for you, I fear!^^ 

A slow tear trickled through her burning eyelids and 
fell upon the small face. It seemed to awaken the infant, 
and a low, hoarse wail issued through the little lips. 

She tried to hush it with a little lullaby that was in- 
finitely tender and soothing, but the child continued to cry 
fitfully, weakly. 

She turned up the dim lamp and looked into the little 
face. 

Was it fancy, or had there come a curious blue look 
about the tiny mouth, a pinched expression about the nose? 

Her heart gave a great bound. 

She looked more closely. There was no mistake. The 
horrible blue was spreading rapidly. The little form was 
growing rigid in her clasp. 

A shrill scream issued from the lips of the j^oung and 
inexperienced mother, then another and anothei^ until 
without ceremony the door was thrown open and several 
women rushed into the room. 

“ What’s the matter?” they demanded in chorus. 


lei 


MY LITTLE PRIN'CESS. 


“ My baby! She is dying!'' Carroll gasped, lifting her 
wb-ite, horror-stricken face- to that of the nearest woman. 
“ For God'fe sake, do somelliing for her! She is all 1 
have in the world! You must not let her die!” 

“ Give her to me!” cried the eldest of the number. 
“ She's got a spasm. It's not much. Quick, Jenny I 
Get me a tub of hot water — as hot as you can get it!'' 

Even as she spoke the woman was rapidly stripping the 
clothes from the now perfectly rigid little form. Carroll 
stood for a moment looking on in stunned agony, then 
without a word, without hat or wrap, she dashed out into 
the street. 

With the speed of the wind she seemed to fly. On, on, 
never pausing for breath, she went, paying no heed to the 
persons who stopped to look at her in her rapid flight, 
straight to the hospital where the only friend upon whom 
she could then rely was to be found. She dashed by the 
man at the door before he could gainsay her, and ran half 
exhausted into the room of Dr. Winter. 

He sprung up hastily at the sudden entrance. 

“ Mrs. Mills!” he exclaimed, “ what in Heaven’s name 
has happened?” 

“ My baby!” she gasped. “ Quick, she is dying!” 

He never remembered to have seen anything like the 
expression upon Carroll's face when she uttered those 
words. He started forward and placed his hand heavily 
upon her shoulder. 

“ Calm yourself!” he cried, hastily. “ It may not be 
so bad as you think. What is the matter with her, and 
where have you left her?” 

“ At home! Oh^ for God's sake, come! She may be 
dead already!”- 

“ But can't you tell me something, so that 1 may 
know—” 

“ It is a spasm, some one said, but — ” 


ilY LITTLE PRIIS'CESS. 165 

“Oh, if that is all, there is not so much danger. 
Come!^^ 

He picked up his hat and got into his coat as he was going 
toward the door. His buggy was at the street door, and 
he lifted her iuto it. There was not a word spoken on 
that rapid homeward drive, but by the set expression of 
those haggard eyes, Harry Winter knew how Carroll was< 
suffering. 

They were not long in reaching the little half tumbled- 
down house that “Carroll called her home, and lifting her 
out carefully, he hurried with her into the room. 

All that could have been done for the child had been done 
by the kind-hearted women, and very gradually it was recov- 
ering from the terrible rigidity, but there was an expres- 
sion on Harry Winter^s face as he held the little creature 
in his arms that caused the most experienced to shake 
their heads and glance apprehensively at Carroll. 

She, however, saw only that the child was better, and a 
great thanksgiving filled her soul. She had scarcely real- 
ized before how great a part of her life that little child 
had become, but she knew it all now, and tears rolled over 
her face like rain as the reaction of hope came. 

But it was piteously short-lived. 

The baby looked at her — she even fancied it smiled in a 
weak sort of way — then the old pinched expression began 
to come again. The wild fear leaped once more into Car- 
roll’s heart, but she neither moved nor spoke, standing 
staring down at the blue lines in the little face as if she 
had become petrified. 

Through all the long hours of the night Harry Winter 
worked over it faithfully, assisted by the good women, two 
of whom remained; but he seemed to know from the be- 
ginning that it was a hopeless endeavor. How patient and 
gentle he wasi But it was all so useless. As morning 
broke, he rose and placed the little creature upon the bed. 

Carroll crept up closely beside him and touched his arm. 


166 


MY LITTLE PEINCESS. 


“ Is she— dead?' ’ she whispered, hoarsely. 

Winter put his arm tenderly about her shoulders. 

“You must bear it bravely, poor little woman," he 
sail, sorrowfully. 

She did not seem to understand at first, looking at him 
in a dazed sort of way, then she saw some one press down 
the tiny eyelids. 

Winter was looking down at her. 

She did not cry out or moan, but a smile came over her 
stiff features. 

She turned to the women present. 

“ You have been very good to her and to me, all of 
you," she said, with a calmness that w^as oppressive, “ and 
I thank you more than I can say. But it is all over now. 
Will you not leave me alone with her?" 

Dr. W’inter shook her slightly. 

“ Child," he said, tenderly, “you must bear up under 
this as you should. Eemember that you are not the only 
childless mother in the world. We must all yield to the 
will of Heaven. Would you call her back from the pres- 
ence of God, even if you could?" 

She seemed to be trying to consider for a moment, then 
she answered, still very quietly: 

“ Ho. I would not, even if 1 could." 

There was a smile upon her face as she said the words, 
and Winter shivered. 

* 

He tried to speak some words of comfort and hope to 
her, but she stared at him as if his meaning were a blank, 
answering: 

“ You must not think that 1 am grieving. Why should 
1? She is at rest with God. Won't you leave me for just 
a little while?" 

And they complied. 

When she was alone with her dead, she knelt upon the 
floor and encircled the little form with her arms. 

“ Are you afraid, my darling, there in the darkness by 


MY LTtTLE PRiKCESS. 


167 


yourself?’^ she whispered. “ It must be very Iqndy for 
you, my little Princess— very lonely. Wait, baby — wait,^ 
if you can, but a little while, and mamma will carry you 
in her arms through the darkness and the storm. You 
are too little to go alone, and. Grod will forgive me now. 
There is nothing else to keep me — nothing at all! Every 
one will be better without me, and we shall be happy to- 
gether up there with God, my little Princess. He has 
shown me the way at last! And they thought that I 
should regret it!’^ 

She tenderly kissed the child again add again, but with- 
out passion, then arose 'from her knees. 

There was neither haste nor hesitation in her manner. 
The smile that Harry Winter had seen upon her lips was 
still there. 

With great deliberation she opened a drawer of a table 
that answered as bureau and wash-stand both, and took 
from it a small bottle, with the ominous skull and cross- 
bones prominently stamped upon the label. She held it 
for a moment between her and the light. It was almost 
full. 

Once again she crossed to the side of the baby and leaned 
over to press her lips upon those already growing cold. 

“Wait, darling!’’ she whispered. “Only a moment 
now!” 

She took the stopper from the bottle, then quietly lifted 
it to her lips. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

Geealdine Kingmak stood staring dumbly at Milli- 
cent MiJlbourne, a wilJ hoiTor in her eyes that was inde- 
scribable. Had her hideous premonitions so soon proved to 
be a reality, then? 

There was the letter in the woman’s hand, the letter that 
she knew contained the truth that she so much feared to 


168 


MT LITTLE PRINCESS. 


hearr An icy perspiration stood upon her brow and about 
her set mouth. What should she do? 

And then the indecision, the weakness of disbelief seem- 
ed to leave her, and the old defiance returned. She would 
not listen to the stories against this betrothed husband of 
hers, against whom she had not the right to hear. She 
drew herself up proudly and looked the suffering woman 
unflinchingly in the eye. 

“ 1 regret that you have done this!’^ she said, coldly. 
“ I have always liked you. I have tried in every way that 
lay in my power to. make your life a happier one. I liav^ 
done what I could for you disinterestedly. There was no 
expected reward, no desire for one, but 1 did not expect 
such ingratitude. Leave my presence.'’ 

She loathed herself for her cruelty, her selfishness, when 
she saw the look of positive anguish that crossed Mrs. 
Mill bourne's face. The poor woman drew back, her sen- 
sitive lip quivered, then a dogged determination blanched 
her already ghastly face. 

“ No!" she cried, “ I can not go until I have proven to 
you that what I have said is the truth. You are too much 
my friend for me to allow you to sacrifice yourself in any 
way, and 1 can not do it, even if my punishment for 
speaking the truth is that I am never to see you again. 
You shall hear me!" • 

“ I tell you that'I will not! Do you think that I should 
accept your word in preference to that of my husband that 
is to be? Do you think that I should allow you to speak 
falsely of him to me?" 

“ I do not ask you to accept m^/yword. I ask you to ac- 
cept only the message that has come to me from the dead. 
I ask you only to listen to the words that Carroll herself 
has spoken." 

There was a solemnity about the tone that was most im- 
pressive. 

Miss Kingman shivered. For a moment she closed her 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


169 


eyes as if to gain strength. Her hand was half extended 
as if she would take the letter, then dropped helplessly by 
her side; When she opened her eyes all her strength 
seemed to have vanished; but in its stead was a wild plead- 
ing that was infinitely piteous. 

“ Don^tl’' she cried, hoarsely. “You don’t know what 
I am suffering. Have you never loved, that you can come 
here to me with this cruel story? I have tried to be your 
friend. Why could you not have let have my little 
happiness in exchange?” 

Tears came to Mrs. Millbourne’s eyes. 

“ Oh, child, you don’t know what you are saying!” she 
exclaimed, huskily. “ You don’t understand what the 
future would have brought you. Do you think it would 
have contained any happiness after you had discovered, as 
you would have been forced to do sooner or later, that you 
were married to a scoundrel? Do you think there would 
have been any happiness in discovering that the father of 
your children was the — ” 

“ For the love of God, hush!” cried Miss Kingman, her 
teeth chattering violently together. “ Do you think 1 am 
not suffering enough already? What is this thing that 
you would show me? Let me see!” 

She held out her hand with an energy that seemed born 
of despair. She grasped the soiled paper, and trembling 
so that the lines were almost illegible, she read to the end? 
then she lifted her eyes to the face of that agonized mother. 
It was quivering with shame and anguish. 

“Do you think that that has cost me nothing?” Mrs. 
Millbourne asked, in an almost inaudible voice. “ Do you 
think that it was an easy thing for me to allow even you to 
suspect the shame that has come upon me? But my duty 
was crying aloud. The man whom 3 ’’ou would marry has 
not only deceived you but her. He has driven her to her 
death. Do you think there is any happiness to be found 
with such as he? Do you not understand that that hideous 


170 


MY LITTLE PEINCESS, 


crime would stand between you forever and forever? 
Should you not see the agony ’of that betrayed girl every 
time that you glanced into his false face? Do you not 
know that it would poison every hour of your life until ex- 
istence would become a curse?^^ 

“ But if I had not known/’ 

The voice was so hoarse, so filled with anguish, that even 
Mrs. Millbourne started, and a little cry escaped her. 

“ Would you have wished that?” she asked, with dull 
horror. “ Do you think that God would allow a crime 
like that to go unpunished, unavenged, always? Do you 
believe that it would have been possible for you to have 
gone all your life without knowing, and would you have 
wished it, even had it been possible? Oh, child, you do 
not know yourself! It is the horror that is upon .you now, 
the hideous suffering in the death of your respect for the 
man w^hom you have loved. You would have discovered 
all some day, and then what would your agony have been 
like?” 

And then Geraldine Kingman remembered her suspi- 
cions that were confirmed now. All those awful things 
that she had feared were true. Should she be able to face 
the years with that bitter knowledge of her husband's 
frightful guilt before her always? I wonder if any of us 
have*ever confronted a more hideous experience. 

She stood for some time in stony silence, unable to speak 
under the excess of her most cruel emotion; then, with the 
letter still in her hand, she said, brokenly: 

“ Will you leave me now? There is nothing more that 
you wish to tell me, is there?” 

The question seemed to cut Mrs. Millbourne to the heart. 

“No,” she answered, heavily. “ Heaven knows 1 wish 
1 could have spared you this!” 

“ Please don’t say anything more about it. You thought 
you w^ere doing your duty, and you were. Of course, 1 
shall see by and by that it was best; but you will under- 


MY LITTLE PRIITCESS. , l7l 

Stand how hard it is just now. 1 don^t want to be cruel, 
but — 

Her lips seemed to have grown too stiff for her to com- 
plete her sentence. Mrs. Millbourne did not approach a 
step nearer to her, but a great longing filled her eyes. 

“You will learn to forgive me some day,^’ she said, 
yearningly. “ I have loved you next to my own child. 
When you have forgiven me, come to me or send for me. 
I shall know no contentment until you do so. Good- 
bye.^' 

“Waitr^ 

The exclamation seemed to come mechanicall}^ then Miss 
Kingman paused to recollect what she had desired to say. 
Memory seemed to return, after an uncomfortable pause. 

“ I wanted to ask you,’^ she said, slowly, “ to remain at 
home until you hear from me. I don’t know what I shall 
want to say to you, but 1 should like to know that you 
will be there when I come.” 

“ 1 shall be there.” 

“ Forgive me if I have hurt you.” 

“ Ah! it is I who should ask forgiveness, for it is 1 who 
have brought the pain.” 

“ Never mind. We shall both stand it all the better the 
next time we meet. I am very wrong, but I have not 
meant to be cruel. Good-bye.” 

She did not offer her hand. There were many things 
that, Mrs. Millbourne would have liked to have raid, but 
her tongue seemed tied in face of the suffering that she but 
too readily read in that noble countenance. 

“God bless and comfort you!” she whispered; then 
turned and walked unsteadily from the room. 

The fire upon the hearth was growing low. Mechanically 
Miss Kingman walked over to it, and taking the brass 
poker from the rack, stirred the embers to a blaze. She 
sat down upon the rug where the warmth might reach her, 
but the very blood in her veins seemed stagnated. 


m 


JIY LITTLE PRIKCESS. 


Under the awful suffering that was paral 3 ^zing her she 
was trying to see her duty through inclination; but she 
was too honest a woman to deceive herself. 

She loved Hilliard — had loved him all her life with the 
entire strength of a pov/erful nature— and she had never 
perhaps loved him before as she did at that moment. It 
is the pitiful contradiction of the human heart that it loves 
most that which it can not possess, and her yearning was 
exquisite agony. 

“ What shall 1 do?^^ she whispered again and again, 
without finding an answer to her own query — “ what shall 
I do?’’ 

Then there was a long period of silence. In which the 
torture seemed too great even to admit of thought. All 
the daylight had died away, and only the very fitful glow 
of the fire fell upon her, making the scene weird and 
spectral. Her face was bowed upon her knee, and thenj 
with it buried there, a wild cry went up from her heart. 

“ Oh, my darling,” she moaned, “ 1 can not— can not 
give you up!” 

There was an oppressive silence after that, broken at 
last by a light footfall in the hall, and an instant after- 
ward the portiere was lifted, and Ballard Hilliard stood 
there in comparative darkness. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

Ballard Hilliard had called Miss Kingman’s name 
twice, and still she had not heard. Fearing he dared not 
think what, he stooped over and lifted her in his arms. 
She uttered a feeble cry and shrunk away, but he placed 
her in a chair and knelt beside her. He would scarcely 
have recognized the drawn, haggard countenance that 
faced him. 

He looked at her for some moments in stunned silence, 
then exclaimed: 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 173 

“ Good heavens, Jerry! what is it that has haj)pened to 
you? Why have you -deceived me? Why have you told 
me that there was nothing distressing you, and then 
allow me to return and find you like this? Speak to me, 
dear, and tell me this dreadful thing. 

Could she doubt the earnestness of that handsome face? 

She groaned aloud as the memory of all she had suffered 
and was to suffer still came to her. She covered her eyes 
with her trembling hands and did not reply. 

“ Jerry Hilliard cried, “you are driving me half 
mad! Is it that you do not trust me that you refuse to 
speak? At least answer something!’^ 

“ What is there to say?^^ she asked, her voice unrecog- 
nizably hoarse; “ and how shall I say it? Ballard, I have 
seen Mrs. Millbourne!’' 

She spoke those last words in an awful whisper, and was 
startled at his wondering reply; 

“ Well?’’ 

. “ Is not that enough?” 

“ Enough for what?” 

“ Is it possible that you don’t know? Or are you trying 
to deceive me further?” 

“ I don’t in the very least understand you. When did 
you see Mrs. Millbourne?” 

“ Now — tO‘day.” 

“ And what did she tell you?” 

“ Everything.” 

“ But what is everything? You are speaking in enigmas 
to me, Jerry. I see you in this terrible state of excitement 
and grief, and the only explanation that you have to make 
to me is that Mrs. Millbourne has been here and told you 
everything. I am as much in the dark as before. Can 
you tell me nothing further?” 

She was sitting bolt upright in the chair in which he had 
placed her, gazing through the faint light into his face 
with a strained look that was painful. 


174 


MY LITTLE PRiNCESS. 


“ Let me look at -you!’' she cried, heavily. “Let me 
look straight into your eyes, Ballard, and see if the man 
whom I have almost worshiped is capable of such deception 
as that! Let me — 

“ Jerry, what is that you are saying?^' cried Hilliard, 
haughtil3^ “ In what have I ever deceived you? What is 
it that you mean?’^ 

She lifted herself half ofl the chair and peered weirdly 
into his face. 

“ Ask yourself,^^ she whispered. “ Look back over all 
your life and see if there is not something in which you 
have deceived me. Think, Ballard T' 

lie fluslied to the very roots of his hair, and she was not 
slow to see it, even in that dim light. 

“ I told you of the one time in all my life in which I 
deceived you — or, rather, as much of it as you would allow 
me to tell,^^ he stammered. “ But Mrs. Millbourne knows 
nothing of that. It is a subject that has never been men- 
tioned between us.’^ 

Miss Kingman had fallen 'back in her chair. She re- 
membered then that she had in reality forbidden him to 
speak to her upon that subject. Was it so much his fault, 
then? What was she to think? How was she to act? She 
moistened her parched lips, and endeavored to nerve her- 
self to the hardest ordeal that she had ever been called 
upon to endure. Then, before she began, she arose and 
rang for lights. 

Hilliard had never seen her like that before, but the 
change awed him. He watched her in silence until she sat 
down before him again, and he knew that the subject was 
opened. 

“ Ballard,’^ she said, slowly, “ I see now that I was 
wrong. I see that there should be no unexplained circum- 
stances in the lives of those that expect to pass through 
years in the closest companionship that God allows to 


MY LITTLE TRIXCESS. 175 

mortals. But it is not too late, and I am ready to listen 
to you. Will you tell me all the truth?^^ 

He was speechless for a moment, striving to d-ecide in 
his own mind what had brought all this about; but, un- 
able to discover any reason, he sat down and drew his chair 
opposite to hers. His countenance was contracted with pain. 

“ You mean the story of my — association with Carroll 
Millbourne?’^ he asked, heavily. 

“ Yes.^^ 

“ I hoped that subject was buried between us forever,^* 
he said, wearily; “ but it must be as you will. The great- 
est sorrow of my life surrounds that time. I have not en- 
deavored to conceal that fact from you. Is it your wish 
that I should begin at the beginning and tell you a con- 
nected story?’^ 

“Yes.^^ 

» It seemed that she was unable to utter more than the 
monosyllable, and that in the shortest of gasps. Hilliard 
looked at her closely, then with eyes still fixed upon her 
face he began, speaking slowly, and striving after a calm- 
ness that cut her to the soul. For the first time she seemed 
really to realize what Carroll had been to him. He ap- 
. parently forgot the presence of his promised wife as he pro- 
ceeded with the story, but rambled on as if he were living 
in that past that had been so unspeakably sweet to him. 
He went on to the day when he had heard of her last, and 
as he concluded his head dropped upon his hands and an 
awful groan escaped him. He was sufiering again as he 
had suffered in those days that were gone, and she knew 
it. She watched him in silence for some time, the sobs in 
her throat almost strangling her. Of all the grief that her 
life had ever known, that moment held the greatest. But 
it mastered her. 

She rose at last and placed her hand upon his shoulder. 

“ Ballard,'" she said, gently, “ have you told me— every- 
thing? Is there nothing more to add?" 


176 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


He lifted his face, distorted with agony. 

“ I have told you all that 1 can,’^ he answered, hoarsely. 

“ Why can you tell me nothing further?^' 

“ I can not answer. 

“ Then let me answer for you. Eead that!^' 

She j)laced the letter in his hands and walked to the 
other end of the room while he read. She was trying to 
think what she ought to do, trying to subdue the ghastly 
pain at her heart, but it was a useless endeavor. She re- 
turned and stood beside him, with her hand upon the back 
of his chair. 

He lifted his ashen face. 

“ Well?’^ he said, hoarsely. 

“ Is that true, Ballard?^' 

“Yes.^^ 

There was a long silence. She did not know how fool- 
ishly she had hoped until then. A low cry, quickly sup- 
pressed, like that which follows a stab of pain, fell from 
her lips. Then the calmness of death came over her. 

“ Wliy did not you tell me?’’ 

“ Do you think that I ever should?” he inquired, 
hoarsely. 

“ But you meant to make her your wife?” 

“ Before Heaven — yes!” 

“ Did you— -did you ever suspect the reason why — she 
went away, Ballard?” 

“ It was because she knew that 1 would never give her 
up, and because she was determined that she would not 
come between you and me.” 

A spasm contracted Miss Kingman’s face. How much 
more noble, more self-sacrificing that child had been than 
she! She wanted to do everything then to make up for 
even the wrong of a momentary intention. She bent for- 
ward eagerly. 

But could you see no other reason?’^ 

‘‘No.” 


MY LITTLE PEINCESS. 


177 


“Think, think, Ballard 

He started up with a low cry of horror. 

“ You donT mean — 

“ Yes, 1 do—yes/^ 

“GoodGodr^ 

She never forgot the expression of his countenance then. 
There was almost insanity in it. She went up and sooth- 
ingly placed her hand upon his shoulder. 

“ You must not excite yourself, so!^' she cried. “ You 
must — 

But apparently he had not heard her. 

“ What a scoundrel 1 have been!’^ he gasped. “ God 
in heaven! what punishment do I not deserve for the sor- 
row and shame that I brought into that poor child’s life! 
I am more her murderer than if I had struck the blow that 
placed her in her coffin! Oh, Carroll! Carroll!” 

She had never heard such grief expressed in the mere 
calling of a name. He concealed his face and sobbed hor- 
ribly. 

“Ballard!” she cried, heavily, “don’t do that! It is 
not quite so bad as you think. I can not tell you yet, 
but— Come away with me now, to-night. There is 
something' that must be done at once. I can not tell you 
yet, but — ” 

Her manner startled him even out of his terrible 
paroxysm of grief. He turned and caught her by the 
shoulders. 

. “ What is it that you mean?” he cried. “ For Heaven’s 

sake, speak quickly! I am almost mad!” 

She hesitated. She did not know how much she ought 
to tell him just then. 

“ Come with me to Philadelphia to-night,” she said, 
pleadingly. 

“ For what?” 

“ Don’t ask me. 1 can not tell you now, but you shall 
know to-morrow.” 


178 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


“ I must know now — now!^^ 

“ Then — Be quiet, Ballard. You are trembling so, 
dear. 

“ But—^" 

“ 1 think — mind you, Ballard, I don’t say anything ex- 
cept that 1 think — but it may be that 1 have seen — your 
child!” 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

It was with a heavy heart that Harry Winter left Car- 
roll alone in that room with her dead baby. 

“Poor child!” he muttered. “There is little enough 
that any of us can do for her now. She may have eired, 
but there was never a woman who has been more cruelly 
punished. I never saw a purer or more innocent face. I 
am quite convinced that there has been some horrible mis- 
take. I don’t believe that she is guilty of the wrong that 
is ascribed to her. And how she suffers! She needs the 
tender sympathy ^of a woman. It is only a woman who 
would know how to speak the words that she needs to hear. 
But who is to speak them? If Miss Kingman were only — 
Why not send for her? She is only a little way off, 1 
shall go for her myself. It can do no harm. She is so 
gentle, so tender, so womanly. I wonder that I did not 
think of it long ago. I shall go at once, early as it is.” 

To think with Dr. Winter was to act. He took bis hat 
and crushed it down over his eyes, then walked hastily 
down the street. He paused before the handsome resi- 
dence, and mounting the stoop, pulled the bell. 

The servants were just beginning to move silently 
through the great house. One answered the summons. 

“ I want to see Miss Kingman,” exclaimed Dr. Winter^ 
who was known to the girl. “ Don’t disturb any one else 
in the house, but tell her — Wait — 1 will write a line 
upon my card. ” 


MY LITTLE PRIly-CESS. 179 

He selected a card, then scribbled upon it: 

“ Will you come with me to see our little friend? She 
is in great distress and needs you. Will explain when I 
see you, but don^t lose any time.'’^ 

The girl took it. 

Miss Kingman had left New York the night before with 
Ballard Hilliard, but not considering it either advisable or 
prudent to go to the hotel, had gone to the home of her 
friends. She sprung out of bed when she had read the 
note that the servant had aroused her to deliver, and 
dressed herself hurriedly for the street. She did not pause 
to greet Dr. Winter when she joined him, but asked: 

“ What is the matter? What has happened?^^ 

“The child is dead!” 

“ Deadr’ she gasped. “ When?” 

“ A few minutes ago, of spasms. That poor child — I 
scarcely know what to think of her. I have never seen 
any one in such a state. She needs some woman friend, 
and I thought of you.” 

Miss Kingman did not reply. She had quite recovered 
herself, and hurried almost into a run down the street. 
Her thoughts were busy, but not a word did she speak 
upon that quick walk. 

“ Is she in here?” she asked, as she paused before the 
door that she knew led to CarrolFs room. 

“Yes.” 

She did not knock for admission, but opened it softly 
and entered. 

A hoarse cry escaped her hs the tableau met her eye. 

The baby lay upon the bed, and by its side stood the 
frantic mother, with a half smile upon her lips, and that 
fatal bottle clasped in her hands. She had not heard the 
opening of the door, and lifted it to her lips as Geraldine 
Kingman entered. 

With a single bound Miss Kingman had reached her. 


180 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


She caught the hand that would have taken her life, and 
the bottle fell to the floor, smashing at CarrolTs feet. 

She looked from the spilled liquid to Miss Kingman’s 
face almost vacantly. 

“ See what you have done!” she said, dully. “It is 
all gone now, and my little Princess can not wait much 
longer.” 

“ What would you do?” gasped Miss Kingman. “ Do 
you not know — ” 

She could not finish her sentence for the horror that was 
upon her. Carroll moaned. 

“What shall I do?” she asked, helplessly. “What 
shall 1 do? Oh, why did you come? Why did you?” 

Miss Kingman took the little figure in her arms and held 
her closely, as if she were a tiny, grieving child. All the 
nobility of her great nature was restored. She felt that 
she could never do enough to show her appreciation for 
the great sacrifice that girl had made for her. Her life 
would have seemed a small recompense at that moment. 

“ My darling!” she whispered, “ what was it that you 
intended to do? Don’t you know that that was wicked? 
Don’t you know that God would have punished you through 
all eternity for taking that which is His? Don’t you know 
that you would never have seen the face of your little one 
in the life that is to come? Is it not better to wait for a 
time, in order that you may be rejoined in that new life in 
which there is no death and no separation?” 

Carroll drew back and gazed at her in silence for a time, 
then burst into tears. Miss Kingman let her weep with- 
out reproof until the tears had ceased to flow. 

“It is so hard!” she moaned — “so hard! What is 
there in life to live for? How can 1 face all the dreadful 
years of torture alone?” 

“ But you will not face it alone, my darling,” said Miss 
Kingman, tenderly. “ There is one who loves you — who 
is waiting even now to ask your forgiveness for the great 


MY LITTLE PRTKCESS. 


181 


wrong that he has done you. Do you think there will be 
no happiness for you, Carroll, in being Ballard Hilliard’s 
wife?” 

The haggard eyes were lifted. There was a moment of 
painful silence, then Carroll whispered; 

“ What is it that you mean?” 

“ That you are to be happy, my dearest, in spite of all 
your suffering. Ballard does not know yet that you live; 
but he is here in this town^waiting for me to bring him to 
you — waiting to see his child.” 

Carroll shuddered. 

“But you will not tell him? Eemember that 1 hold 
your promise to tell no one — no one at all!” 

“ Would you keep a father from the sight of his dead 
child?” 

Carroll drew back. 

“ What do you mean?” she whispered, hoarsely. 

“ That 1 know all— all the generous, noble sacrifice that 
you have made for me, and all the suffering that,! have 
caused you, my darling! Oh, Carroll, could you not have 
understood that nothing under heaven could have induced 
me to come between you and the man who loved you? 
You will be Ballard’s wife now, and—” 

“No, no, no! You don’t understand! I never could 
do that — never!” 

“ Why not?” 

“ Can’t you see? You have been the best, the only 
friend we have ever known. Do you think that 1 would 
rob you of the man whom you love? Do you think 1 
would take from- you the man who for years has been your 
promised husband?” 

“ Not when you know that I never shall be his wife?” 

“ Not even then, because you love him!” 

There was a resolution in the sad voice that Miss King- 
man knew could not be shaken; but now that the two 
women had entered upon a contest of self-saciifice, Miss 


182 MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 

KiDgnian determined that uofliing should stand between 
her and the end that she had in'viev^. She felt that to see 
Ballard Hilliard and Carroll happy would in some measure 
expiate the sin that she had committed in thought if not 
in reality — the sin of separating those two who loved each 
other, and all her nature was aroused in the endeavor. 

There was an anguish in the white face that Carroll was 
too heart-broken to see, but the voice was almost steady as 
she said, softly: 

“ But suppose that 1 should tell you that 1 do not love 
him?’^ 

“ I would not believe you,'^ she said, quiveringly^ 

“ But suppose I could prove it to you?"^ 

You could not do that,^' she said, miserably. “ Oh, 
Miss Kingman! if you have any pity, don’t torture me!” 

“ Do you know me so little that you think I could? I 
am going to prove to you that — Ballard Hilliard is — 
nothing to me!” 

What it cost her to utter those words no one ever knew, 
but they were spoken quietly, almost cheerfully. 

“ How?” whispered Carroll. 

“ By showing you the gentleman whoso wife I have 
promised to be.” 

There was a certain rigidity about the white lips that 
gave evidence of the woman’s agony; but even that passed 
away as she opened the door and signaled Harry Winter, 
who still stood without, to enter. 

He came at her silent call, and going forward, placed 
his hand upon Carroll’s head. She gazed from one to the 
other in bewilderment. 

“ This is the' gentleman of whom I was speaking,” said 
Miss Kingman, with an imploring glance in Winter’s direc- 
tion. “ Doctor Winter, will you not assure Carroll that I 
am your betrothed wife?” 

The look of astonishment upon W’inter’s countenance 
gave place to one of deep pain. The eyes of both women 


MY LITTLE PKINCESS. 


183 


were upon him, the one in mute, terribly agitated inquiry, 
the other in pleading that he could not comprehend. 
What was he to say? His lips grew white as death as he 
replied: 

“If it is your desire that 1 should do so, then I am 
ready. 

Miss Kingman swayed for a moment, but recovered her- 
self before Winter had reached her side. She smiled at 
him, but it was/piteously weak. Then they both turned to 
Carroll, who had slipped from her chair and lay there upon 
the bare floor with a strangely white face. 

“She has faintedl^’ exclaimed the doctor, as he lifted 
her in his arms and placed her upon the bed beside the 
dead infant. 

“ We must remove it before she recovers consciousness,'^ 
said Miss Kingman, gently. “ Poor, suffering, noble 
child! how we have all wronged her! There is a message 
that must be sent at once. Will you see that it is de- 
livered?" 

“Yes." 

“ May I have a leaf from, your note-book?" 

He gave her a prescription blank and a pencil, and she 
scribbled: 

“ Dear Ballard, — Come at once with messenger. Be 
prepared for a terrible shock. A great sorrow and a 
greater joy awaits you. Don't delay. 

“ Geraldine." 

AVith trembling hands she conflded it to Dr. W^inter, 
after holding it up for his inspection. He could not com- 
prehend the situation, but he knew that it would be ex- 
plained to him in time, and, leaving her there to await 
him, he went from the room with the message. 


184 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

Early as it was when the messenger sent by Harry 
Winter to Ballard Hilliard’s hotel arrived, the latter was 
already dressed, and was endeavoring to swallow a few. 
morsels that had been set before him for breakfast. 

The mysterious conduct of Geraldine Kingman the night 
before had prevented his sleeping. . She had explained 
nothing; but he would have been more than obtuse not to 
have seen that there was something much beyond the 
ordinary in her concealed meaning. He scarcely dared at- 
tempt to guess what it all meant, and yet his heart told 
him that some great clj^nge had come into his life. Every 
sort of theory that the fanciful brain of man could invent 
he had considered as the explanation of her conduct, but 
each was as promptly rejected as conceived. 

“lam allowing myself to hope for too much,” he told 
himself again and again, striving to curb his own eager- 
ness. “ The reaction will be so great that it can not be 
endured when I find how I have really permitted my im- 
agination to run riot over reason. Women are all sensa- 
tional. Poor Jerry! How she has suffered through me! 
Ah, God! What happiness do I deserve? What grief 
have 1 not brought upon the two women that 1 would have 
given my life to protect from harm? How noble and 
generous they both have been, and how little .1 have de- 
served the love of either. 

He leaned his head upon his hand and groaned as he 
looked down into his plate. He felt that he could not 
bear the uncertainty much longer, that he must demand 
some explanation from her, let the hour be what it might. 
He was rising from the breakfast-table with that determi- 
nation well defined, when the messenger addressed him. 

“ You are Mr. Ballard Hilliard?’^ 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


185 


“ There is a letter, and I am to take you with me as an 
answer, 

There was no envelope upon it, and very hastily Hilliard 
cast his eye over the contents. A vivid flush rose to his 
brow, followed suddenly by a pallor that was alarming. 
What could it be that she meant? he asked himself. He 
did not pause to answer his own query, but hurried after 
the messenger. 

“ Is it far?^^ he asked. 

“ ’Bout half a mile.’^ 

There was a coupe standing at the door of the hotel. 
Hilliard sprung in. 

“ Give the order to the coachman!” he cried to the boy, 
“ and tell him to drive fast for double money!” 

The boy obeyed, then sprung in and closed the door. 

Under the tempting promise, the driver was not many 
minutes in reaching the address that had been given, and 
wondering greatly at the poverty of the surroundings to 
which Miss Kingman had summoned him, he leaped to the 
ground, and, ordering the coachman to wait, ran up the 
few steps. 

The door was opened by Miss Kingman herself. 

Her face was very pale, but there was a smile in her eyes 
for all that which reassured him. He caught her hand 
and pressed it with a force of which he was unaware. 

“ For God’s sake, Jerry, don’t keep me in suspense!” 
he exclaimed, huskily. “ Tell me what is it you mean, 
and what has happened.” 

“ But you must be calm first,” cried Miss Kingman, 
her own voice trembling between a hysterical laugh and 
cry. “ Everything depends upon your calmness.” 

“ Don’t, don’t! The suspense is maddening!” 

“ But it is for her sake, Ballard!” 

“ Hers? Whose?’^ 

“ Carroll’s!” 


186 31 Y Little princess. 

He staggered against the door. For a moment the 
frightful pallor of his face alarmed her, but the next a 
wild joy illumined his eyes, such as she had never seen ex- 
pressed by any countenance. 

“Carroll!^' he whispered. “You could not be cruel 
enough to deceive me like that! Explain to me quickly, 
for the love of Heaven!^' 

A faintness, a giddiness oppressed Miss Kingman’s 
heart, but it was but momentary; then all the old gener- 
ous self-sacrifice returned. She put up her. hand and 
touched his cheek caressingly. 

“ She is not dead, Ballard, as we all thought,’^ she said, 
gently. “ There was — a — a secret that she concealed 
even from you! It is a very sad time for Carroll, dear, in 
spite of the fact that she knows of the happiness that is in 
store for her, because — you must be very brave for her 
sake, Ballard, for Carroll has suffered even more than you 
think. Her — child is — dead!’^ 

He did not speak. His pallid lips seemed incapable of 
articulation. He stood there staring at her helplessly for 
a long time, then in a dull, stupid sort of way he said, 
almost quietly: 

“ Take me to her.^’ 

She turned away and opened the door. Then she closed 
it again behind him, and he was alone with the woman 
who had been the one love of his life. 

She was lying upon the bed with her head propped up 
with pillows, her great hollow, haggard eyes fi^ed upon 
the door. That same bleak despair that had characterized 
her expression was still there; but as she recognized the 
figure that had come through the door she tried to raise 
herself. The effort was too great. She flung out her 
arms, the low gasping cry reaching only him, and the next 
moment she was in his arms, pressed closely to his madly 
beating heart. 

There were no words between them. They were both 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


187 


weeping, their tears mingling as their lips met and clung 
together. Tlien when their agitation had been somewhat 
controlled, Hilliard whispered brokenly: 

“ My love, my wife, how we have both suffered!^' 

“God never yet let a sin go unpunished, Ballard,^^ she 
faltered. “We have no right to complain. Have they 
told you — 

She could not finish the sentence; but he knew from the 
grief in the sweet eyes that she referred to the death of 
her baby. He drew her closer to him and held her lips 
to his cheek. 

“ Not all, darling, but enough to make me understand 
what a curse 1 have been to your pure life. Can you ever 
forgive me, Carroll?’^ 

“ I told you long ago that there must be no talk of that 
between us. God has forgiven, and He has sent the sweet 
signal of pardon in you. Oh, my love, my love! 1 could 
not have borne life longer without you. The burden had 
grown too great. I have been a terrible coward. I could 
not even hope when they told me that you were coming. 
I can scarcely believe that you are here now, though 1 feel 
the throb of your heart against my own.^’ 

“ But it is all true, my little Princess. 

She started. The old ^weet name had brought back the 
memory of her great loss to her. She tried to rise, but he 
was forced to lift her. 

“ What is it, sweetheart?^^ he whispered. 

“ We must go to — her! Oh, Ballard, if you could only 
have seen her once in life I might have been content!'^ 

“ Hush, love! We must not question the will of God. 
Are you strong enough to bear it?” 

“Yes.” 

He lifted her from the bed and supported her with his 
strong arm. She was very frail, very weak, and his heart 
ached as he saw the terrible changes in her that suffering 
had wrought; but she was even more beautiful to him than 


188 


MY LITTLE PKINCESS. 


ever, and it seemed to him that, much as he had loved her 
in the old time, he had not known the meaning of love till 
now. 

She indicated the way, and he half carried her to the 
room in which she knew they had ,placed the little form 
that they were so soon to lose forever. 

They had placed it upon a little cot, and together that 
father and mother knelt beside the body of their child. 

When the first grief had subsided, Hilliard rose and took 
the little dead thing in his arms, holding his baby for the 
first time to his breast. Very tenderly he brushed the soft 
■ golden hair back from the delicate brow and pressed his 
lips upon the tiny mouth, murmuring unheard words of 
love. 

Carroll sat there upon the floor with her great, grief- 
stricken eyes fixed upon them, thinking what ^ radiant 
joy it would have been had that tender heart but known 
that it was her father who held her, that it was her father 
who whispered those precious words. A quiveiing sob 
escaped her, and laying the tiny thing gently back upon 
the conch, Hilliard lifted Carroll and took her to the-^room 
that they had left. 

“ It is very bitter, darling, he whispered; “ but God 
knows best. The world would have been very cruel to 
her, dear heart, because of the sin of her father. You 
must remember that, and understand that it is best for her 
sake. 

But in the first wild grief a mother never can see the 
j ustice in the sacrifice. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

There was a long consultation half an hour later be- 
tween Ballard Hilliard and Geraldine Kingman. Carroll 
was present, but she took no part in it, lying quietly upon 
the bed with her hand clasped tenderly in his. If there 


MY LITTLE PimTCESS. 


189 


was a pang of jealousy in Miss Kingman's heart, it was 
carefully concealed, and her countenance was as clear as 
an unclouded sky as she talked. 

If Hilliard wondered at this, he was too wise a man to 
speak, Katurally he had not forgotten her grief of the night 
before, but it seemed to him then that it was more mourn- 
ing for the shattering of an ideal than suffering over the 
blow dealt her love. The thought comforted him, and he 
preserved it. 

“ You wish my advice as to what is best to do?" she 
asked, with a smile. 

“ Yes," he answered, gratefully. “We owe so much 
to you that — " ^ 

“ Hush! You owe me nothing. I have cost you a year 
of suffering the most intense, and it seems to me now that 
1 can never do enough to erase it. But we will let that go. 
I thank Heaven that I was the innocent rather than the 
guilty cause. Now here is my plan. If you don’t like it, 
don’t hesitate to say so." 

“ It is sure to be the best and most generous." 

• “ Wait until you have heard before you judge. There 
is no reason why any one should know the truth of this." 

“ 1 understand," said Hilliard, an expression of shame 
coming to his countenance. 

She hurried on: 

“ And— and 1 think it is youi desire as well as mine that 
it should be upon the arm of her husband that Carroll 
leans when she stands for the last time before that child 
whom she so loved." 

Hilliard looked his gratitude. 

“You know," continued Miss Kingman, “that the 
baby can not be buried from here. We will take it to 
New York and have the ceremony from my house. Before 
we have reached the house we will visit a clergyman who 
is a friend of mine, and to whom 1 shall telegraph in ad- 
vance, and you can be quietly married in his office on your 


190 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


way up from the train. There need be no one present ex- 
cept m 3 "self and some member of the minister's household 
who never saw you and will never hear of you again. In 
that way 1 am quite sure that we can keep the matter con- 
fined to those who already know, and they are sufficiently 
interested in Carroll to wish to be silent for her sake. In 
fact, 1 see no reason why even they should know the real 
truth. If you will let me tell the story to Harry Winter 
and to Russell Shannon, there is no reason why I could not 
arrange it satisfactorily with little trouble. Do you agree?^^ 

“ Nothing could be better^ I don’t see how we are to 
thank you for the kindness that you are showing us, Jerry. 
I have deserved it very little.” 

“We were not to mention that subject again, 1 thought. ” 

“ But how can one be silent?” 

“ Do you think that I should not be interested after all 
these years of brotherly and sisterly affection?” she asked, 
half averting her face. 

“It sofinds so strange to hear you say that,” exclaimed 
Carroll, softly. “ It does ncft seem possible that all this 
hideous suffering has been a mistake — that it was useless 
from the beginning. Just to think, Ballard! I thought 
she loved you, and it was dear, generous, great-hearted 
Doctor Winter all the time! She is liis betrothed wife, 
and, oh, I do pray God that you may be happy as you de^* 
serve. Miss Kingman!” 

She observed the strange flush that had arisen to Miss 
Kingman’s face, but did not construe it aright. Hilliard 
had straightened up. 

“ Betrothed to Winter, you say?” he almost gasped. 

There was a slight pause of embarrassment, then Miss 
Kingman answered, quietly: 

“Yes. It has been a very great mistake, Ballard, all 
around. I am engaged to Harry.” 

It was not an easy announcement for her to make. Her 
very soul seemed to contract under the pain of it, but she 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


191 


was repaid for her sacrifice when she saw the expression of 
gladness upon Hilliard's face. 

He sprung up, and catching her about the waist, kissed 
her upon the lips. 

“ Thank God, Jerry!" he cried, brokenly. “ There is 
nothing that could have given me greater happiness than 
this. You have been the good angel of my life." 

“ No, the Nemesis, Ballard. But for me you might 
have been happy months ago. Let me go now, dear. Re- 
member that I have all the arrangements to make, and 
there is no time to be lost if we are to leave for New York 
to-night." 

She left them after that, and they watched her go as 
they might have watched an angel. Hilliard suspected 
more than he c^red to acknowledge even to himself, but 
there could be nothing done, and repining now was useless. 
He was alone with the single love of his entire life, and in 
spite of the terrible grief that was upon them in the first 
hours of their reunion, he was happy. 

It was in the afternoon of the same day that Dr. Winter 
entered the. room where Miss Kingman stood with the un- 
dertaker. The latter was upon the point of leaving, and 
took his departure soon after. Then she turned to Win- 
ter. 

“ You should have gone to your room to rest after leav- 
ing the hospital, instead of coming here," she said, gently. 
“ You are sadly in need of it." 

“ Do you think I could rest until I had seen you?" he 
said, with an unsuccessful effort to conceal his agitation. 
“ I think this day has been filled with the greatest unrest 
that I have ever known. There has seemed a week in 
each hour." 

Miss Kingman's face was slowly alternating from white 
to crimson. Her hands were trembling, and her lips al- 
most refused to do her bidding as she tried to speak 


193 


MT LITTLE PIUNCESS. 


calmly, avoiding the subject to which she knew he 
referred. 

“ It has been a long day, hasn’t it?” she asked. “ But 
then there has been so much to do — so much to hear. 
What would you think if I should tell you that there was 
a secret marriage long ago between Ballard Hilliard and 
Carroll?” 

“ I should call him no less a contemptible scoundrel 
than 1 think him now!” answered Winter, with energy. 

“ You must not say that — indeed you must not, for 
there is no man who deserves it less than Ballard. The 
circumstances that have surrounded him have been the 
most unfortunate, that is all. I can not explain them to 
you, but when 1 tell you that I am more than satisfied you 
will understand that you have misjudged him, will you 
not?” 

But in spite of her pleading, Winter was not quite con- 
vinced. 

“ Yet he was engaged to you when he had a wife!” he 
said, heavily. 

“ He thought her dead. The person whom we all be- 
lieved to be Carroll lies in Woodlawn, where Ballard and I 
stood side by side to see her buried. He never concealed 
his love for her from me. There was no deception. 1 
knew that he never loved me. He has suffered as men 
rarely do. Don’t become a Pharisee! J udge nothing that 
you do not understand. 1 am not at liberty to tell you 
secrets that are not my own, but you will try to believe, 
will you not?” 

“lam willing to accept whatever you say is right, be- 
cause I am utterly in the dark. They have their own 
reasons, I suppose, for wishing to conceal these things, and 
1 have neither the desire nor the right to pry into. them. 
But there is one part of it which concerns me very closely, 
and it is upon that point that 1 have come to you to-day. 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


193 


Geraldine, wliafc was it that you meant by making the an- 
nouncement to— shall I say Mrs. Hilliard?— that you did?'' 

lie paused and looked down upon her, but her eyes were 
upon the floor, and she did not reply. Her breathing was 
not quite regular. He understood her embarrassment 
clearly enough, and took her hand soothingly, tenderly, 
not quite concealing his own emotions, but succeeding in 
remaining very quiet. 

“ 1 asked you only a’little while ago to be my wife, and 
you declined," he said, slowly. “ Have you reconsidered 
your answer? Are you willing to trust me with your 
future, Jerry?" 

She bravely lifted her eyes to his face. 

“ The situation is a most distressing one, Harry," she 
answered, hesitatingly. “ 1 am afraid that I have taken a 
most contemptible advantage of you, and you have the 
right to withdraw from it if you so desire. The announce- 
ment that 1 made was an impulse in which you were not 
considered. I see how wrong it was. I wish you would 
not take that into consideration at all, Harry. I wish that 
you would forget that I have said that." 

“ 1 don't think 1 quite comprehend you. Is it that you 
wish to withdraw from the unconsidered engagement?" 

She did not reply; but again her eyes were cast upon 
the floor. 

A sudden flush dyed Winter's face. 

“Very well!" he cried, passionately. “ So be it. Let 
us forget all the past. Jerry, will you be my wife? You 
know that 1 love you — you know that I always shall. 
What is your answer?" 

There were tears in her eyes as she lifted them grate“ 
fully. 

“ You are so good, so generous!" she cried, brokenly. 
“ Let me be thoroughly honest, if I can. It is too soon 
yet, Harry, to talk about forgetting the past. I have told 
you before, and I told the truth. I have no right to tell 


194 


MY LITTLE PlilNCESS. 


you that it was all a mistake, for that would be a cruel 
falsehood. But are you willing to trust me, Harry? Are 
you willing to wait?^’ 

“ As Jacob did for Eachel.^^ 
j “ Then I will be your wife, Harry. 
r There was no great demonstration upon either side. He 
kissed her forehead quietly and pressed her hand. The 
undertaker came to her for some instructions, and she left 
her betrothed husband to give them. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

There was a quiet wedding in a little parsonage the 
same evening, in Xew York, at which only the contracting 
parties, the clergyman. Miss Kingman, and a person who 
signed his name Harris Hemingway were present. The 
last named rather objected, after the old-fashioned idea, 
to seeing a woman married in black; but Miss Kingman 
felt sure that that would never affect the happiness of Bal- 
lard Hilliard’s young wife, and so expressed herself. 

They were driven immediately after the ceremony to 
Miss Kingman’s residence, when Hilliard himself insisted 
upon going after Mrs. Millbourne. Miss Kingman offered 
to go, but Hilliard would not listen to that, and, taking 
the same carriage that had brought them, he drove to the 
old tenement that was to be Millicent Millbourne’s home 
no longer. 

What occurred there no one ever knew, but Hilliard told 
Carroll afterward that he had spoken only the truth to her 
mother. Certain it was that she went back with him to 
the residence of Miss Kingman. No one saw her meeting 
with her daughter, and no one asked what took place, but 
it was upon the arm of her son-in-law that she leaned when 
she looked for the first and last time upon the face of her 
granddaughter. 

It was a most pathetic picture, but one in which all saw 


MY LITTLE PEINGESS. 


195 


great happiness in the perspective, in spite of the shadow 
upon it then. 

The funeral occurred, with strict privacy, next day, the 
little form being placed by that other one in VV'oodlawn 
over whom they had wept such bitter tears. 

The story of the private marriage, the subsequent mis- 
understanding, and the supposed death were told to Mrs. 
Shannon and Russell, also to all those who had known 
Carroll during that wretched time, and if there were any 
doubts upon the subject, those most interested never knew. 

Mrs. Millbourne was established shortly after that in a 
house that was the property of J3allard Hilliard, and, after 
being sure of her perfect comfort, he and his wife started 
away for a tour about the world that was to last for several 
months. It was rather difficult for Mrs. Millbourne to 
lose her daughter so soon after her recovery; but then she 
knew that it was wisest and best, and said nothing but 
words of encouragement when the plan was . proposed by 
Hilliard. 

During the hours of leisure and comfort of mind and 
body that followed, Mrs. Millbourne made the translation 
of the novel that Hilliard had brought her upon that night 
that she had known the greatest sorrow of her life. It 
proved to be the forerunner of what was afterward a won- 
derful success in the line of translations. An original 
novel was added later on in life, and from it to-day her 
name stands enrolled most brilliantly prominent in the 
archives of literature. 

It was not long after the departure of Mr. and Mrs. 
Hilliard that the father of Miss Kingman died. There 
had been an unusual attachment between the two, and life 
was exceedingly lonely to her. It was during one of his 
visits to New York that Harry Winter observed the empti- 
ness of her life, and, while he had resolved never to urge 
her to become his wife, but to allow her to take her own 


lOG 3MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 

time, he could bear it no longer, and broke the pledge he 
had made himself. 

He urged upon her only the companionship of which she 
was standing so much in need, and she accepted it. He 
went back to Philadelphia, resigned his position there, 
and, with very little preparation, there was another wed- 
ding. 

Hilliard and Carroll were still absent, which was as Miss 
Kingman would have desired. 

Then they, too, went abroad, remaining for more than 
a year. The companionship was close enough, but a wed- 
ding like that is a most dangerous thing, a fact which Ger- 
aldine realized painfully after marriage. She hesitated to 
go to her husband, who was nothing more than her 
brother, after all, with any of the affairs .that concerned 
her, lest he misunderstand or misconstrue her. It was 
the silence which he misunderstood, and a coldness, a 
formality sprung up between them that effectually froze 
the sweet intimacy of the marriage tie. 

They neither had the courage to propose a return home, 
and a time of as great misery as either had ever known had 
come upon them. Winter was all that she could have de- 
sired, in so far as his attentions were concerned, but they 
were the attentions of the courteous stranger, and not the 
lover. ‘ 

Woman-like, the great change, which was constantly 
growing, cut her to the heart, and she began to yearn for 
the little demonstrations that he had shown her at first. 
From the small acknowledgment to her own heart, to the 
ultimate realization that she was passionately in love with 
him, was the work of months, and months of thorough un- 
happiness to them both. 

They were in a far distant land upon the anniversary of 
their marriage, but the memories that the day brought 
were not mentioned between them when the evening came. 
They were seated in the same room. Winter pretending to 


MY LITTLE PRIiq-CESS. 


197 


read, and his wife gazing from a window at something 
which she could not see, when the silence and the yearning 
grew too great to be borne. She rose suddenly with an 
enei'gy that was born of despair, intending to end all then 
and there, but the sight of his emotionless face stopped 
her. 

The sudden movement, the start, the stop attracted 
him. He glanced up. The intense emotion in that 
usually impassive face startled him. He laid his paper 
aside and arose. 

“ What is it, Geraldine?^^ he asked, quietly. “ Are you 
not well?’^ 

The sound of the voice loosened all the flood-gates of 
her misery. 

“ No,^’ she cried, “ I am not well! 1 want to go home. 
Why do you not take me? It is all too utterly wretched to 
be borne longer. 1 tell you that I shall die under it! 
Take me home, and 1 promise you that you shall never be 
distressed again with the sight of a face tha^ has grown 
hateful to you!^’ 

“ Geraldine!’^ 

“ Let me finish while I can. I know that I did wrong 
to almost force you into that engagement with me, and 1 
have received nothing that 1 have not deserved, but surely 
it is enough. I canT tell you how I have suffered — how I 
am suffering! Oh, Harry, take me home! 1 will keep 
my word to you, let the cost be what it may!'’^ 

He was upon his feet. There was grief and shame 
blended in his expression. He took her hand and very 
gently forced her into a seat. Once or twice he walked 
up and down the floor to regain his composure, listening 
to the sound of her convulsive weeping; then he returned 
and stood with his hand upon the back of her chair, look- 
ing sadly down upon her. 

“ Jerry,'’ he said, softly, calling her by the old name for 
the first time in months, “ I can not tell you what this has 


198 


MY LITTLE PRINCESS. 


cost me. 1 have seen for some time how utterly miserable 
you have been, and I wanted to suggest that we return 
home, but 1 did not know how to frame the suggestion in 
a way that you would not misunderstand. God knows, if 
1 had ever guessed that our marriage was to end in this 
way, I would have sacrificed my life before forcing it upon 
you as I did. I deluded myself into the belief that I could 
win your love, when I see now that I was taking the short- 
est way to make you despise me. I wish I could make you 
understand my position. I wish I could make you see 
how bitterly I regret the past, but that is impossible. It 
is but natural that you should have only the hardest, most 
cruel thoughts of me, and when I try to say anything to 
convince you that I am not the creature you have imagined 
me, my tongue seems tied, and I can say nothing.^' 

Her tears had ceased, and she was staring up at him 
with an astonishment which he could not translate. 

She turned in her chair and put her hand upon his. 
His fingfers closed spasmodically over her own. 

“ What are you saying, Harry?’^ she asked, in a queer 
tone. “ Do you mean that you are so blind that you think 
still that I do not love you?^' 

A boyish flush leaj^ed to his brow. 

“ Don’t torture me!” he said, little above a whisper. 
“You know that the one passion of my life has been given 
to you, and — ’ ’ 

“That it died?” 

She almost held her breath for his reply to her half 
assertion, half interrogation. 

“Died!” he ejaculated, hoarsely. “When? 1 don’t 
want to trouble you with my feelings, but yet neither 
would 1 have you believe that which is so untrue. 1 don’t 
ask for anything in return now, because I see that it is so 
cruelly impossible, but I have never loved you as I do at 
this moment. ” 


MY LITTLE TLIisCESS. 


199 


She was upon her feet before him, and a single exclama- 
tion had fallen from her lips. It was: 

“Oh, Harry!’’ 

But there was such a world of expression in it that he 
peered into her face with a curious start; then, when he 
had seen, he caught her. hand in a grasp that was painful. 

“ Speak to me quickly!” he gasped. “ What is it that 
you mean? This is exquisite torture, so don’t keep me in 
suspense!” 

“ We have been so blind,” she said. “Ho you think 
that God always darkens a life that He shadows? Oh, 
Harry, I have believed that you had grown to despise me, 
and it almost broke my heart, because I love you!” 

“ My wife!” 

« ^ :ic sic 4: 4: 

There is little left to tell. 

During their voyage homo there was another heir born 
to the Hilliard estate — another girl, called this time Geral- 
dine Kingman Hilliard, and a right welcome addition she 
is to the household, the spoiled idol of her fond grand- 
mamma. It is a joyous reunion, in which there is no 
shadow of regret upon the part of any one, and Harry 
Winter is not the last to realize that happy fact. 

Eussell Shannon is the only wanderer. 

He never married, but devoted his life to his mother; 
and now that the years have softened the sting of bitterness 
connected with his love, he visits the Hilliards and his 
former brother-in-law frequently, doing his share to spoil 
the ever-petted Miss Hilliard in the most approved fashion. 

If there’s a shadow even so large as a man’s hand in the 
sunlit horizon, the most experienced skipper has not yet 
discovered it. 


THE END. 





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9 Saints and Sinners. Walsh Marie 25 

10 Leonie Locke : or. The Romance 

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13 Uncle Ned’s White Child. By 

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14 All for Love of a Fair Face; or, 

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21 Sworn to Silence; or. Aline Rod- 

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29 His Country Cousin. By Char- 

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31 Sold For Gold. By Mrs. E. Burke 

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32 A Misplaced Love ; or. The Rec- 

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33 Love at Saratoga. By Lucy 

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34 Estella’s Husband; or. Thrice 

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36 W’ild and WTllful; or, To the Bit- 

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9^ad)totgeube SSevte fmb iu ber 5)eiitj(J)eii Sibrari) eijd)ienen 


1 Der Kaiser, von Prof. G. Ebers. 20 

2 Die Somosierra, von R. Wald- 

inuUer ! 10 

3 Das Gelieimniss der alten Mam- 

sell, Roman von E. Marlitt... 10 

4 Qiiisisana, von Fr. Spielhagen. 10 

5 Gai tenlauben-Bliithen, von E. 

Werner 20 

6 Die Hand der Nemesis, von E. 

A. Kdpi" 20 

7 Amtmaun’s Magd, von E, Mar- 

litt 20 

8 Vineta, von E. Werner 20 

9 Auf der Riimmingsburg, von M. 

Widdern 10 

10 Das Hans Hillel, von Max Ring 20 

11 Gliickanf! von E. Werner 10 

12 Goldelse, von E. Marlitt 20 

13 Vater und Sohn, von F. Lewald 10 

14 Die WUrger von Paris, von C. 

Vacano 20 

15 Der Diainantsclileifer, von Ro- 

sentlial-Bonin 10 

16 Ingo und lugraban, von Gustav 

Freytag 20 

17 Eine Frage, von Georg Ebers.. 10 

18 Im Paradiese, von Paul Heyse. 20 

19 In beiden Heinispharen, von 

Sutro-Schiicking 10 

20 Gelebt unci gelitten, von H. 

Waebentiusen 20 

21 Die Eiehliofs, von M. von Rei- 

chenbacb 10 

22 Kinder der Welt, von P. Hej'se. 


Zweite Ilalfte 20 

23 Barl'iissele, von B. Auerbach... 10 

24 Das Nest der Zaunkdnige, von 

G. Freytag 20 

25 Friililingsboten, von E. Werner 10 

26 Zelle No. 7, von Pierre Zacone. 20 

27 Die junge JFrau, von H. Wa- 

cbenhiisen 20 

28 Buchenheim, vonTh. von Varn- 

biiler 10 

29 Auf der Balm des Verbrechens, 

von E. A. Konig 20 

30 Brigitta, von Berth. Auerbach. 10 
81 Iin Sctiillingshof, von E. Marlitt 20 

32 Gesprengte Fesseln, von E. Wer- 

ner 10 

33 Der Heiduck, von Hans Wa- 

chenhusen 20 

34 Die Sturmhexe, von Grftfln M. 

Keyserling 10 

35 Das Kind Bajazzo’.s, von E. A. 

Konig 20 


36 Die B ruder vom deutschen 

Hause, von Gustav Frev tag. . 20 

37 Der Wilddieb,vonF. Gerstacker 10 

38 Die Verlobte, von Rob. Wald- 

iniiller 20 

39 Der Doppelganger, von L. 

Chucking 10 * 


40 Die weisse Frau von Greifen- 

stein, von E. Fels 20 

41 Hans und Qrete, von Fr. Spiel- 

hagen 10 

42 Mein Onkel Don Juan, von H. 

Hopfeu 20 

43 Markus K6nig, von Gustav 

Freytag 20 

44 Die schdnen Amerikanerinnen, 

von Fr. Spielhagen 10 

45 Das grosse Loos, von A. KSnig 20 

46 Zur Eh re Gottes, von Sacher, 

und Ultimo, von F. Spielhagen 10 

47 Die Geschwister, von Gustav 

Freytag 20 


48 Bischof und Konig, von Mariam 

Tenger, und Der Piratenko- 
nig, von 1\I. Jokai 10 

49 Reichsgrafin Gisela, von Marlitt 20 

50 Bewegte Zeiteu, von Leon Alex- 

androvvitsch 10 

51 Um Ehre und Leben, von E. A. 

Konig 20 

52 Aus einer kleinen Stadt, von 

Gustav Freytag 20 

53 Hildegard, von Ernst von Wal- 

do vv 10 

54 Dame Orange, von Hans Wa- 

chenhusen 20 

55 Johaunisnacht, von M. Schmidt 10 

56 Angela, von Fr. Spielhagen 20 

57 Falsche Wege, von J. von Brun- 

Barnow 10 

58 Versnnkene Welten, von W. 

Jensen 20 

59 Die Wohnungssucher, von A. 

von Winterfeld 10 

60 Eine Million, von E. A. K6nig.. 20 

61 Das Skelet, von F. Spielhagen, 

und Das Frdlenhaus, von Gu- 
stav zu Pntlitz 10 

62 Soil und Haben, von G. Freytag. 

Erste Halfte 20 

62 Soil und Haben, von G. Freytag. 

Zweite Hfilfte 20 

63 Schloss Griinwald, von Char- 

lotte Fielt 10 

64 Zwei Kreuzherren, von Lucian 

Herbert 20 

65 Die Erlebnisse einer Schutzlo- 

sen', von K. Sutro-Schiicking. 10 

66 Das Haideprinzesschen, von E. 

Marlitt 20 

67 Die Geyer-Wally, von Wilh. von 

Hillern 10 

68 Idealisten, von A. Reinow 20 

69 Am Altar, von E. Werner 10 

70 Der Konig der Luft, von A. von 

Winterfeld 20 

71 Mosehko von Parma, von Karl 

E. Franzos 10 

72 Schuld und Siihne, von Ewald 

A. Konig 20 

73 In Reih’ und Glied, von Fr. 

Spielhagen, Erste HUlfte. ... 20 


DIE DEUTSCHE LIBRARY. 


‘/8 In Reih’ und Glied, von Fr. 

Spielhaj^en, Zweite Halfte.. 20 
H 'Geheimuisse einer kleinen Stadt, 
von A. von Wiuterfeld 10 

75 Das Landliaus am Rhein, von 

B. Auerbach. Erste H&lfte.. 20 

76 Das Laudhaus am Rhein, von 

B, Auerbach. Zweite HSlfte. 20 
76 Clara Vere, von Friedrich Spiel- 


hapen 10 

77 Die Frau Burgermeisterin, von 

G. Ebers 20 

73 Aus eigeuer Kraft, von Wilh. v. 
Hilleru 20 

79 Ein Kampf urn’s Recht, von K. 

Frauzos 20 

80 Prinzessiu Schnee, von Marie 

Widdern 10 


81 Die zweite Frau, von E. Marlitt 20 

82 Benvenuto, vou Fanny Lewald. 10 

83 Pessimisten, von F. von Stengel 20 
^ Die Hofdaine der Erzherzogin, 

von F. von Witzleben-Wen- 


delstein 10 

o6 Ein Vierteljahrhundert, von B. 

Young 20 

80 Thiiringer Erzahlungen, von E. 
Marlitt 10 

87 Der Erbe von Mortella, von A. 

Dom 20 

88 Vom armen egyptischeu Mann, 

von Hans Wachenhusen 10 

69 Der goldene Schatz aus dem 
dreissigjiihrigen Krieg, von E. 

A. Kdnig 20 

90 Das Fra,uleiu von St. ^ma- 

ranthe, von R. von Gottschall 10 

91 Der Fiirst von Montenegro, von 

A. V. Winterfeld 20 

92 Um ein Herz, von E Falk 10 

93 Uarda, von Georg Ebers 20 


94 In der zwolften Stunde. von 

Fried. Spielhagen, und Ebbe 
und Flutn, von M. Widdern.. 10 

95 Die von Hohenstein, von Fr. 

Spielhagen. Erste Halfte. .. 20 

95 Die von Hohenstein, von Fr. 

Spielhagen. -Zweite Halfte.. 20 

96 Deutsch und Slavisch, von Lu- 


cian Herbert 10 

97 Im Hause des Commerzien- 

Raths, von Marlitt 20 

98 Helene, von H. Wachenhusen, 

und Die Priazessin von Portu- 
gal, von A. Meissner 10 

99 Aspasia, von Robert Hammer- 

ling 20 

100 Ekkehard, v. Victor v. Scheffel. 20 

101 Ein Kampf um Rom, von F. 

Dahn. Erste Halfte 20 

101 Ein Kampf um Rom, von F, 

Dahn. Zweite Halfte 20 

103 Sninoza, von Berth. Auerbach. 20 

103 Von der Erde zum Mond, von 

J. Verne 10 

104 Der Todesgruss der Legionen, 

von G. Samarow 20 

l(^ Reise um den Mond, von Julius 
Verne 10 


106 Fttrst und Musiker, von Max 

Ring 30 

107 Nena Sahib, von J. Retcliffe. 

Erster Band 20 

107 Nena Sahib, von J. Retclifte. 
Zweiter Band 20 

107 Nena Saliib, von J. Retcliflfe. 

Dritter Band 20 

108 Reise nach dem Mittelpunkte 

der Erde. von J. Verne 10 

109 Die silberne Hochzeit, von S. 

Kohn..: 10 

lie Das Spukehaus, von A. von 
Winterfeld 20 

111 Die Erben des Wahnsinus. von 

T. Marx 10 

112 Der Ulan, von Job. van Dewall 10 

113 Um hohen Preis. vou E. Werner 20 

114 Schwarzwalder Dorfgeschich- 

ten, von B. Auerbach. Erste 
Halfte 20 

114 Schwarzwalder Dorfgeschich- 

teu, vou B. Auerbach. Zweite 
Halfte \ja 

115 Reise um die Erde, von Julius 

Verne U) 

116 Casars Ende, von S. J. R., 


117 Auf Capri, vou Carl Detlef. . .. 10 

118 Severa, von E. Hartuer ^ 

119 Eiu Arzt der Seele, vou Wilh. 

von Hilleru 

120 Die Livergnas, von Hermann 

Willfried 1 Q 

121 Zwauzigtausend Meilen unterm 

Meer, von Jul. Verne Jifl 

122 Mutter und Sohn, von A. Godin 10 

123 Das Haus des Fabrikanten, von 

G. Samarow 20 

124 Bruderflicht und Liebe, von L. 

Schiicking 10 

125 Die Romerfahrt der Epigonen, 

von G. Samarow. Erste 
Halfte 20 

125 Die Romerfahrt der Epigonen, 

von G. Samarow. Zweite 

Haifte 20 

126 Porkeles und Porkelessa, von J. 

Scherr 10 

127 Ein Friedensstdrer, von Victor 

Bliithgen, und Der heimliche 
Gast, von R. Byr 20 

128 Schdne Frauen, von R. Edmund 

Hahn 10 

129 Bakcben und Thyrsostrager, 

von A. Niemann 20 

130 Getrennt, Roman von E. Polko 10 

131 Alte Ketten, Roman von L. 

Schiicking 20 

133 Ueber die Wolken, von Wilhelm 
Jensen U 

133 Das Gold des Orion, von H. 

Rosenthal-Bonin IJ 

134 Um den Halbmond, von Gr. 

Samarow. Erste Halfte 20 

134 Um den Halbmond, von Gr. 

Samarow. Zweite Iiaifte .... 20 
136 Troubadour - Novellen, von P. 

_ ^fleyse lU 


DIE DEUTSCHE LIBRARY. 


136 Der Schweden-Schatz, von H. 

Wachenhnsen 

137 Die Bettlerin vom Pont des 

Arts und Das Bild des Kaisers, 
von Wilh. Hauff 

138 Modelle, Hist. Roman, von A. 

von Winterfeld 

139 Der Krieg um die Haube, von 

Stefan ie Ke 5 ^ser 

140 Numa Roumestan, von Al- 

j)honse Daudet 

141 Spatsommer, Novelle von C, 

von Sydow, und Engelid, No- 
velle von Balduin Jldllhausen 

142 Bartolomaus, von Brusehaver, 

und Musnia Cussalin, Novel- 
len von L. Zienissien 

143 Ein gemeuchelter Dichter, Ko- 

inischer Roman von A. von 
Winterfeld. Erste Halfte 

143 Ein gemeuchelter Dichter, Ko- 

mischer Roman von A. von 
Winterfeld. Zweite Halfte. . . 

144 Ein Wort, Neuer Roman von G. 

Ebers 

14.5 Novellen, von Paul He 5 'se 

146 Adam Homo in Versen, von 

Paludan-Muller 

147 Ihr einziger Bruder, von W. 

Heimburg 

148 Ophelia, Roman von H. von 

Lankenau 

149 Nemesis, von Helene von Htilsen 

150 Felicitas, Hiscor. Roman von F. 

Dahn 

151 Die Claudier, Roman von Ernst 

Eckstein 

152 Eine Verlorene, von Leopold 

Kompert 

153 Luginsland, Roman von Otto 

Roquette 

154 Im Banne der Musen, von AV. 

Heimburg 

1.55 Die Sclnvester, v. L. Sch ticking 

156 Die Colonie, von Friedrich Ger- 

stacker 

157 Deutsche Liebe, Roman von M. 

Muller 

158 Die Rose von Delhi, von Fels. 

Erste Halfte 

158 Die Rose von Delhi, von Fels. 

Zweite Halfte 

159 Debora. Roman von AV. Muller. 

160 Eine Mutter, von Friedrich Ger- 

stiicker 

161 Friedhofsblume, von W. von 

Hillern 

162 Nach der ersten Liebe, von K. 

Frenzel 

163 Gebannt und erlcist, von E. AVer- 

ner 

164 Uhlenhans, Roman von Fried. 

Spielhagen 

165 Klytia, Roman von G. Taylor. . . 

166 Mayo. Erzahlung von P. Lindau 

167 Die Herrin von Ibichstein, von 

F. Henkel . 

168 Die' Saxoborussen, von Gr. Sa- 

marovv. Erste Htilfte 


168 Die Saxoborussen, von Gr. Sa- 


marow. Zweite Hiilfte 20 

169 Serapis, Roman von G. Ebers.. 20 

170 Ein Gottesurtheil, Roman von 

E. AVerner 10 

171 Die Kreuzfahrer, Roman von 

Felix Dahn 20 

172 Der Erbe von AVeidenhof, von 

F. Pelzeln 20 

173 Die Reise nach dem Schicksal, 

yon K. Franzos 10 

174 Villa Schonow, Roman vonAv. 

Raabe lo 

175 Das A^ermiichtniss. von Ernst 

Eckstein. Erste Halfte 20 

175 Das A^'ermachtniss, von Ernst 

Eckstein. Zweite Hiilfte 20 

176 Herr und Frau Bewer, von P. 

Lindau 10 

177 Die Nihilisten, von .Toh. Scherr. 10 

178 Die Frau mit den Karfunkel- 

steineu, von E. Marlitt 20 

179 .Tetta, von George Taylor 20 

180 Die Stieftochter, von J, Smith. 20 

181 An der Heilquelle, von Fried. 

Spielhagen 20 

182 Was der Todtenkopf erziihlt, 

von M. Jokai 20 

183 Der Zigeunerbaron, von M. 

Jokai 10 

184 Himmlische u. irdische Liebe, 

von Paul Heyse 20 

185 Ehre, Roman von O. Schubin.. 20 

186 Violanta, Roman von E. Eck- 

stein 20 

187 Nemi, Erzahlung von H. AA^a- 

chenhusen 10 

188 Strandgut, von Joh. von Dewall. 

Erste Hiilfte 20 

188 Strandgut. von Joh. von Dewall. 

Zweite Hiilfte 20 

189 Homo sum, von Georg Ebers. . 20 

190 Eine Aegyptische Konigstoch- 

ter, von Georg Ebers. Erste 

Halfte 20 

190 Eine Aegyptische Konigstoch- 
ter, von Georg Ebers. Zweite 20 


191 Sanct l\Iichael, von E. AVerner. 
Erste Halfte 20 

191 Sanct Michael, von E. AVerner. 

Zweite Halfte 20 

192 DieNilbraut, von Georg Ebers. 

Erste Halfte 20 

192 Die Nilbraut. von Georg Ebers. 

Zweite Halfte 20 

193 Die Andere, von AV. Heimburg. 20 

194 Ein armes Madchen, von AV. 

Heimburg 20 

195 Der Roman der Stiftsdame, von 

Paul Heyse 20 

196 Kloster AA'endhusen, von AV. 

Heimburg 20 

197 Das A’^ermachtniss Kains, von 

Sacher-Masoch. Erste Halfte 20 

197 Das A^ermachtniss Kains, von 

Sacher-Masoch. Zweite Haifte 20 

198 Frau Venus, von Karl Frenzel.. 20 


20 

10 

20 

10 

20 

10 

10 

20 

20 

20 

10 

20 

10 

20 

10 

10 

20 

10 

20 

10 

10 

20 

10 

20 

20 

10 

20 

10 

20 

20 

20 

20 

10 

20 

20 


DIE DEUTSCHE LIBRARY. 


199 Eine Vierielstuiide Vater, von 

F. W. Hacklander 10 

200 Heimatklanar, von E. Werner.. 10 


10 

20 

20 

20 

20 


201 Herzenskrisen, von AV. Heim- 

burg: 20 

202 Die Schwestern, von G. Ebers.. 20 

^3 Der Egoist, von E. Werner 10 

2W Salvatore, von E. Eckstein — 20 

205 Lumpeniniillers Liescheu, von 

W. Heimbur^ 20 

206 Das einsaine Hans, von Adolf 

Streckfus 20 

207 Die verlorene Handschrift, von 

G. Frey tag:. Erste Hiilfte. . . 20 

207 Die verlorene Handschrift, von 

G. Frey tag:. Zweite Hiilfte. . 20 

208 Das Enlenbaus, von E. Marlitt 20 

209 Des Herzens Golgatha, von H. 

Wachenhusen 20 

210 Ans dem Leben meiner alten 

P'reundin, von W. Heimb'irg 20 

211 Die Gred, von G. Ebers. Erste 

Hiilfte 20 

211 Die Gred, von G. Ebers. Zweite 

Hiilfte 20 

212 Trndchens Heirath, von Wilh. 

Heiinburg 20 

213 Asbein, von Ossip Schiibin 20 

214 Die Alpenfee, von E. Werner.. 20 

215 Nero, von E. Eckstein. Erste 

Halfte 20 

215 Nero, von E. Eckstein. Zweite 

Hiilfte 20 

216 Zwei Seelen, von R. Lindau 20 

217 Mandver- n. Kriegsbildei*, von 

Joh. von Dewall 10 

218 Lore von Tollen, von W. Heiin- 

biirg 20 

219 Spi'tzen, von P. Lindau 20 

220 Der Referendar, von E. Eck- 

stein 10 

Ein schoner ausgearbeiteter Catalog^ enihallend eine alphabetinche List, 
wird von Gkorgb Munro fiir 10 cents an olle Adressen versendet. 

„Die Deutsche Library" ist bei alien Zeitiingshiijullern zu, haben, Oder 
wird gegen 12 Cents fiir einfache Numniern, Oder 25 Cents fiir Doppelnum- 
niern nach irgend einer Adresse portofrei versendet. Bei Bestellungen durch 
die Post bittet man nach Nummern zu bestellen. 

P. O. Box 3751. 17 to ‘27 Vaiidevvater Street, New York. 


221 Das Geiger-Evchen.von A.Dom 20 

222 Die Gdtterburg, von M. Jokai 20 

223 Der Kronprinz und die deutsche 

Kaiserkrone, von G. Freytag 

224 Nicht im Geleise, von Ida Boy- 

Ed 

225 Camilla, von E. Eckstein 

226 Josua, eine Erziihlung aus bib- 

lischer Zeit, von G. Ebers 

227 Am Belt, von Gregor Samarow 

228 Henrik Ibsen’s Gesammelte 

Werue. Erster Band. 20 

228 Henrik Ibsen’s Gesammelte 

Werke. Zweiter Band 20 

228 Henrik Ibsen’s Gesammelte 

Werke. Dritter Baud 20 

228 Henrik Ibsen’s Gesammelte 

Werke. Viei ter Band 20 

229 In geisliger li re, von H. Kohler 20 

230 Flammenzeichen, v. E. Werner 20 

231 Der Seelsorger, von V. Valentin 10 

232 Der Prasident,vonK.E.Franzos 20 

233 Erlachhof, Roman von Ossib 

Schubiu 20 

234 Ein Mann, von H. Heiberg 20 

235 Nach zehn Jahren, von M. Jokai 20 

236 Um die Ehre, von Moritz von 

Reichenbach 20 

237 Eine Hof-Intrigue, von C. H. 

von Dedenroth 10 

238 Griifin Ruth, von Emile Erhard 20 

239 Eine unbedeutende Frau, v. W. 

Heimburg 20 

240 Boris Lensky, von O. Schubiu 20 

241 Die Erbtaute, Roman von Jo- 

hannes van Dewall 20 

242 Gloria victis!, Roman von Os- 

sip Schubiu 20 


The New York Fashion Bazar Book of the Toilet. 

WITH HANDSOME LITHOGRAPHED COVER. 

PRICE ‘25 CENTS. 

This is a little book which we can recommend to every lady for the Preserva- 
tion and Increase of Health and Beauty. It contains full directions for all the 
arts and mysteries of personal decoration, and for increasing the natural 
graces of form and expression. All the little affections of the skin, hair, ej’es, 
and body, that detract from appearance and happiness, are made the sub- 
jects of precise and t-xcellent recipes. Ladies are instructed how to reduce 
their weight without injury to health and without producing pallor and weak- 
ness. Nothing necessary to a complete toilet book of recipes and valuable 
advice and information has been overlooked in the compilation of this volume. 

For sale by all newsdealers, or sent by mail to any address on receipt of 
price, by the publisher. 

Address (tKOKGE munro. Miinro’s Piiblislniig' House, 

(P. 0. Box 3751.) 17 to .27 Vande water Street, New York. 


THE ART OF HOUSEKEEPING. 

BY MARY STUART SiAilTH. 

WITH HANDSOME LITHOGRAPHED COVER. 

PRICE -25 CENTS. 

A thoroughly practical book on housekeeping by an experienced and 
celebrated housekeeper. Mas. Smith is a capable and distinguished writer 
upon all suiijects connected with the kitciieii and household. She is one of tlie 
most popular contributors to The New York a.\d Paris Young Ladies’ Fash- 
ion Bazati, where the chapters contained in this work first appeared. 


GOOD FORM: 

A BOOK OF EVl'RY DAY I'TIQUFTTE. 

BY MRS. ARMSTRONG. 

Price 25 Cents. 

No one aspiring to the manners of a lady or gentleman can afford to be 
■without a copy of tnis invaluable book, which is certain to spare its possessor 
many embarrassments incidental to the novice in foi ms of etiquette. 


MUMO’S STAR RECITATIONS. 


Compiled and Edited by Mrs. MARY E. BRYAN. 

PRICE *.>5 CENTS. 


Cutting-Out and Dressmaking. 

From tlie French of Mile. E. Graiid’homme. 

PRICE ‘.^5 CENTS. 


The above works are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent by mail on 
receipt of the price. Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, Munro*s Publishing House, 

(P, O. Box 3751.) 17 to 27 Vande'water Street, Ne-w Yozh. 


THE MTJNRO CORSET. 

Thk MtTNRO Corset is constructed on a prnceful model for improvinpr the 
flgrure, the shape bein^ permanently retained by the added yoke and cross- 
bones at hip. In the Muni*o Corset art and utility are combined, one beintr ihe 
support of the otlier, the desigrn beinf' such as to retain perfect beauty of 
shape and contour, while the materials present such a comlunation of firmness 
and pliability tliat the figure is sustained in exquisite grace and elegance. 



The Munro Cohset is made to ordtr only: the materials used and the fin- 
ish are guaranteed to be of the very best quality. Ladies who understand the 
art of dressing w'ell will be charmed with this new and beautiful Corset, and 
will appreciate not alone the appearance but the ease and comfort in wearing 
and the perfect freedom in movement, without danger of breaking whalebone 
or steel. The front, being laced, makes it adjustable, 
measure slips sent on application. 

( Best French Coutil, white or Gray - - $12.00 

DDinrC • Best French Coutil, black ----- 13.00 

I niULw ■ j White or Black Satin ----- 20.00 

[ Best Silk, in Colors ------- 20.00 

In all cases money must accompany order, and may be sent by Registered 
Letter or Post-ofiftce Order. Address GEORGE MUNRO, 

P. O. Box 8761. 17 to 27 Vandewater St., N. Y. 



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